The resin smell of Christmas pine still teases our noses,

yet our warm embrace can’t stop the rushing year.

You served us well, you friend who steps into the past.

Your soul was jubilation,

though pain was also there.

We thank you and apologise –

we spent you not too well,

the pledge, as every year, to do much better hence.

So fare thee well dear months to which we bid adieu,

your treasure is enshrined.

Yet, on we move, that it is the season’s wish.

A new year to be loved and conquered

is born in winter’s dark.

Thanks time bygone and time that is unrolling!