write-now

It's the start of a another year and another decade, and yet what has changed?  Here is a poem that captures a feeling of anti-climax as the digits change.

New Year

Nought is added.

No matter.

In the limbo between the week that has passed

and the week to come,

the hours of the day have yet to lengthen and

I drift to the beach where sea and sky

collude in monotony.

No rain nor wind nor sun.

Nothing to be done.

3.1.2020

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