I've missed three weeks of Poetry Friday, and I really can't miss another one. I just got back from the beach, where I've been writing, but nothing I'm ready to share. This poem is really for tomorrow, not today, but the idea of ducking as 2017 heads our way seems prudent.
Tonight’s December thirty-first,
Something is about to burst.
The clock is crouching, dark and small,
Like a time bomb in the hall.
Hark, it's midnight, children dear.
Duck! Here comes another year!
Here's today's roundup.
5 hours ago