It was the year
That rocked with the shock
Of the stopping clock
That choked with the smoke
Of the hearts that broke
That bled on the edge
Of the reaper’s wedge
And so the dark endings
Became painful bendings
In the path to slow mending
It was the year
That burst with the thirst
For creation’s first
That spawned with the form
Of a chrysalis born
That gleamed with the beam
Of a kaleidoscope meme
And so the winged swarmings
Became hopeful dawnings
To new ways of performing
It was the year
That was blighted and slighted
Yet still over-flighted
That was spanned over grand
And exotic lands
That I grew as I flew
And chased after the blue
And now the fresh dew
Of beginning anew
In the year forty-two
— Wayne Visser