Nubbins for a New Year.

We who live here only shortly

Scale all meaning to our days,

Pose the questions flies will ponder

Not the ones that mountains raise.

Nor the ones preoccupying

Oaks whose girth my arms can’t ken,

Hill and woods they are bemoaning

The short-sightedness of men.

We are like the Wind who’s raging

Back and forth, and up and down,

Throwing storms against all comers,

Beating drums of Great Renown.

But we who think ourselves so grand

Are but sandcastles on the strand.

Traitors to both life and land,

We’ll die on gibbets made by hand.

But it need not be ever so –

For we who have but flummoxed flies,

Might one day the oaks surprise!

All of us here wish you (& the rest of the World), Peace; Health; the Love of Family, Friends, and even Strangers; and, when the situation allows, the Spunk to surprise some Oaks!