Thursday, December 31, 2015

Fast Away.




Dear The End,
I always hate to see you go, even in the hard times, and the difficult years.  Folks say to me, often, at the end, "I hope next year will be better."  I never see how it could be-  not because I expect them to suffer at the hand of fate, as they feel they did this year, but because I love each year as if it were a daughter of my own.  Like a potted plant that finally cannot continue in its confined corral, I hate to see the years succumb to the inevitable end.  Oh, yes, yes I know, it will be a good year also, and I will come to love it just as fiercely as the present year, but for now, I hate to see you go.
Here is a song, that might say what I mean, or might it?  Maybe I mean this: