Nearing the New Year
In a dead sprint
To cross the old threshold
In a month clear of tint.
The future seems fresh now
The past year has tired
I'm always so eager to
Escape from the mired.
January's a mirage
A facade to unknown
Another year soiled
By December overgrown.
Each New Year's whispers
Promises it can't keep
It just has to get you
To commit one more leap.
-Eve Featherstone
Eve's Paintings & Prints
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