By Andrew R. Duckworth
Alarming how short the time becomes
When the gatherings are in full swing
And the party begins to draw to a close
And the last visitor goes on their way.
Life goes back to the daily battle,
The mundane renewing its cycle,
And we wait, as time stretches out.
Inches turn to miles
As we mark days off the calendar
Waiting for freshness.
Surely, this new year might be the year
That warriors on their smartphone
Might raise their head and notice sunshine.