Here I sit,
	The old year
	Warped and broken,
	By a fine haze
	Of tattered
	Now useless and
	Ragged with age.
	Another year
	Gone forever!
	And was I clever?
	Hardly ever.
	When do we
	Ever know
	That the things
	We've done
	Were really worth-
	While?  When
	Are we sure
	Our aimless pottering
	Did some good
	After all?
	Never, as far
	As I can see.
	But sometimes,
	You want to know;
	You've got to know
	It wasn't
	An empty fight
	After all.


© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

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