That time of year has come again
To mark the page with ink and pen
To mark the turn of mortal wheel
To down the lights and play the reel
The story flickers, scene to scene
My path of life upon the screen
Some faces shine while others fade
Some chase the sun, some hide in shade
There’s love and action in the plot
Some lines recalled and some forgot
There’s drama too, some glitz and gloss
Starbursts of joy and caves of loss
Some parts seem tailor-made to bore
Routines repeated as before
But then there’s magic breaking through
From dust of old, the glint of new
The tale meanders, unforeseen
From bushveld beige to desert green
Through cities grey to bays of blue
Each place a world of shifting hue
I cannot read the runes of dreams
This march of days, this swirl of means
I simply throw the bones of fate
And close the loop at forty-eight
— Wayne Visser