The coming to an end of a year;
The slight winds now very sways
The timid poplar leaves and bear
With current the populace` dwellings.
And my heart only wishes the wind
Could sweep the levell`d expectations
Upon the strained shoulder then shed
The core with convivial of spirits.
Midst this hour I shall only my heart;
When frail old age has come
To breed eternal woes by day-and-night
I`ll only my heart to grace of memory file:
That so.like a dropping vulture
Clamoring down the vast plumages,
And taking the helpless prey with ease
Then settle high on some tree roof leaves;
Nor like a nostalgiac memory train
Travelling down the years that so a mystery:
Then provoke a wrinkled laughter,a self-meditation,
Or weave certain solemness of failures very.
But now the dreadful or rather dull-
The coming to an end of another year,
Which sang a melancholy trill
Despiriting even the bravest of this hour.
