The end of the calendar draws near
to close to this bitter-strange year.
March was marked by a quiet,
No parades, drinking or revelry
to mishonor of our country's patron
Saint. Silence gripped the land, I float
though a ghost-town
and feel the kenopsia
of society abandoned.
Spring blew into summer
which passed quickly to
fade in the fall as winter
begs darkness, inevitable.
October was dead, no signs
of life save the reappearance
of some old friends, symptoms
of the muse. The annual festivities
were quite subdued, and it will surely
be a questionable New Year. Luckily
a shooting star crossed my sky as I
cycled home on the estival solstice.
For me that marked the end
of the year two-thousand-and-twenty,
A year so audacious they named it twice;
