When you look at your back,
And count the days plucked
And looking, counting, to remember.
O, may this day be last of December!
I prayed for hope,
And waited in faith. . .
The year, this night drops,
Been one those of everyone’s race.
If you sit down to meditate
Both thy cheers and fate,
Well, well, I know
That of all you could show
May all be nothing;
Yes! Never a substance of reality
As tangible as a thing
This year wane-fully made we see.