London Poem: Day 136

31 December

The last day precedes
The new year,
Trembling in the eager
Musings of what it will bring.
I was lucky this year,
Yet, still, my eyes move,
Struggling to keep up,
Wondering quietly:
“But what more is love
And the changing day,
Than the rolling uncertainty
Of the unpluckable flower
Caught in a swirling wind?”
You move and I will follow –
Today is another day,
But it marks a board from
Which our new world shall spring.


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In flux

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