Ides of December
Last autumn night before us
Let in light of former days
At Solstice where we’re all well-met
With all our yesterdays.
And no rewrite of history
Will rewrite what is done
Within recurring mystery
Of December’s rising sun.
One symbol from the ages past,
One sound that’s been that’s yet to be,
An echoing from first to last
From Wo-si-te…
For thee.
–w.w. 2022
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