Oh, New Year

I gaze 'cross the field of untrodden tomorrows,
And pray for its yield, for its joy and its sorrow,
As softly, without warning the old year slips away,
Like mist in the morning at the dawn of the day

Oh New Year unbroken, you are a mystery,
But as each day is spoken it too becomes history,
A shadow, a flicker, a soft, fleeting breath,
This life, but a vapor ere it rests 'neath the earth

I gaze 'cross the field, still perfect, unscarred,
Like a sparkling shield of snow, still unmarred,
No footprints, no dances, no echo of voices
On this unpainted canvas, awaiting my choices

Oh, New Year untarnished, your hope gleams before me,
The old year has vanished, its fame and its glory,
It rests in the urn of all by-gone years
Where none can return to its laughter or tears

So I gaze at this field, unbroken, untrodden,
Soon too its fair yield will lie silent, forgotten,
But the seeds that I scatter in my joy and my strife
Will bear fruit that I'll gather at the end of my life