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.

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New Year

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Nought is added.

No matter.

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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.

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No rain nor wind nor sun.

Nothing to be done.

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3.1.2020