A solemn year, full of experience
walks shyly into disappearance.
This is an escape it stages every calendar.
It knows to the heart, that it'll be back.
Nothing like a holiday for it.
Time and again, it has to be a witness
Albeit the one who doesn't blink.
It never seems to be bored.
Moves on like a passer-by.
Its passage is marked in a life-size atlas
and the memories tied around it
are always for safe-keeping.
While it only sheds such foliage.
Neither a shoulder it offers
to the people committing more to life
nor a sigh it whispers, to the ones
inching closer to a good-bye.
It is deeply callous to our feelings.
Had it been a human
it would be in trouble
in various courts of justice.
All ye beings
it's coming again.