A year--
how quickly has it passed
from last year's December
to this year's winter:
a mere return of snow and rains;
That, I wish I could say.
But the truth is;
it was the slowest of the slowest,
the most torturous ride.
Because this year
I've felt each minute ticking by,
each season changing
leaves falling and flowers coming.

Reveling in the not-too-glorious
glitter of unrequited love,
this year I've known suffering.