NEW YEAR’S MORNING
Martin hums a tune from the old country,
For the soft ghost of his wife, for his dogs,
For the world that carries on.
It is the first day of a year
Builded upon a sea of memory alone,
And slow light swum from a pale winter sun.
It is quiet and still, as only New Year can be,
Uncertain but content in itself,
A grey, growing brightness sufficient for the moment.
No need to rush, no need to hurry.
It shall taste of yesterday soon enough.
An old tune the world hums to itself
To soothe the soft ghosts it once loved,
And loves, and will and will.
—
simonhlilly 
Lovely! Thank you.