The Old Year

The Old Year

By John Clare

 The Old Year’s gone away

     To nothingness and night:

We cannot find him all the day

     Nor hear him in the night:

He left no footstep, mark or place

     In either shade or sun:

The last year he’d a neighbour’s face,

     In this he’s known by none.

All nothing everywhere:

     Mists we on mornings see

Have more of substance when they’re here

     And more of form than he.

He was a friend by every fire,

     In every cot and hall--

A guest to every heart’s desire,

     And now he’s nought at all.

Old papers thrown away,

     Old garments cast aside,

The talk of yesterday,

     Are things identified;

But time once torn away

     No voices can recall:

The eve of New Year’s Day

     Left the Old Year lost to all.

The year of our Lord two-thousand fourteen is almost over.  I will not say that it has been an exceedingly good year, nor an exceedingly had year.  It's just been another year.  I will reflect more on 2014 in my post tomorrow, but for now, let's hope for a prosperous and healthy 2015 to friends, family, and my readers.