On New Year's Eve
I am at home to the Future...
I wait to hear her ring the doorbell of the world.
I open the door.
The gorgeous guest from afar sweeps in.
In her hands are her gifts--
The gift of hours and far-seeing monuments,
The gift of mornings and evenings,
The gift of spring and summer,
The gift of autumn and winter.
She must have searched the heavens
For boons so rare.
I am at home to the Future...
I wait to hear her ring the doorbell of the world.
I open the door.
The gorgeous guest from afar sweeps in.
In her hands are her gifts--
The gift of hours and far-seeing monuments,
The gift of mornings and evenings,
The gift of spring and summer,
The gift of autumn and winter.
She must have searched the heavens
For boons so rare.
...
--Abbie Graham, 1922
From Ceremonials of Common Days
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