Why Looke You So, and All Turne Dumbe to See the New-Yeare Come?

Coiled clouds and a cold wind,
But the sun is too warm
At the end. And you’re here

To take it all in! Yes,
When you’ll end, then’s the end.
Now is a rest, at best.

Seeds will be plowed in spring.
There will be crops next fall.
More of the woods will burn,

More folks get sick and die.
More schemes will fail. Not all.
Tools that flew to the moon

Will come back with small bits
Of the moon in their teeth.
They may crash. They may land

Like cats on their feet. Ah,
Don’t be sad. Years bring years.
Some stars will fall. Not all.