We will always

Either be

Looking forward to

Or getting over

Something…

…about temporal matters

And how to

To 'twit-off'

'Egg-cit'

Or simply employ

A rival's cords

To sew a

Similar uniform…

Death sneaks in

Swiftly reducing

A month of

Hopeful hellos

To particularly

Poignant farewells.

Here come

365 days

In which to sink or swim

Drowning in the words of others

Or floating on our own principles.

The aftermath

Of a relay

In a pre-

Determined race

With a gilded baton

Seamlessly

Changing hands

There is always a reason for each season we're in…