As the long year came to an end all the world wept.
Clouds burst against the spires and minarets,
The streets melted and
Many shivered at their gray reflections.
And I was glad, as one is relieved at artificial endings.
Tomorrow, in a different year, we shave the same face
or powder it; and lawyers tell the same old laws for
or against us.
Yet the mind relaxes as midnight passes,
And I was glad this year crept out in tears,
That the dirty sky, without a lawyer's aid, should open,
And make an end of it.

-- Johanna Ross