Splinters of the oldest grey rock piled like carpets
Crystal-cold water over every stone,
and lush-green teases the now wary foot.
Smooth rounds, smooth hollows the mountains stand.
A new day for a newer year yet to come.
It was good.

The Christmas that she gave me I can never repay
It is without my power.

And now, Truth disguised, as always, rears its ugly head.
But much has been learned.
To be discarded, she asks, needing no reply.
I don't know, I say.

There must be a beginning, a middle and an end.
We know the beginning
We've had a middle
Is there no end?

I don't know, he said.