The time of resolution
when frost is spectre-grey.
Yes, I remember January,
much to my dismay.
It's the start of a brand new year,
much better than the last.
Of course changing months
makes you forget the past.
It's the 'season of change'
but everything is dead.
When the wind is bitter cold
and I can't get out of bed.
All around me,
people use euphemisms
to describe this season
of personified cynicism.
Ignore January.
Brush it under the carpet.
Look forward to the years
that haven't yet started.
Be around your loved ones;
laugh and cheer.
Have a good one, my friend.
Happy New Year.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Poetry Vol. I
PoetryA collection of previous poetry written by me, left the way it was when I discovered it. There are no specific genres or forms to these.
