Just leer at me and put your finger on my lips as I slip into the mists.
Tis New Year's Eve and one hour left t'avail,
The blueish shadows, tire tracks winding thence
From here to out of sight, and white snow dense
Upon the landscape are all buried, pale
Within night's blacker shroud, as no detail
Save distant, muffled shots is't? own a sense
Of what we thought to know, yea, that pretense
Mair hollow as the Scriptures tip the scale.
Ya, Revelation and the end in tour
Of Babylon sets all our fete as due
Now on its ear, the festive note we stir
Less than its vaunted echo, listed to
Effect as burned up in a moment, poor
As freighted joys. And what is left to do?
Three guesses on how yours truly spent New Year's Eve, and the first two don't count.