At New Years Eve
we’ll stand in the back garden
to watch sparkles and flares,
listen to the bangs and screeches
of city and county fireworks.
No scent of cordite will mar or jar
the sweet rural air.
Nothing shall destroy the calm of the countryside,
the homes of small animals and birds.
There’ll be no sky lanterns to pollute the night.
We’ll reflect on 2020
—the Covid year—
and be glad to see the back of it.
The coming year will be better,
it couldn’t be worse, we’ve decided.
We’ll think of lost friends,
unhappy families,
the marvellous NHS;
of sights previously unseen,
unthought-of happenings
and poor planning that made the year dire.
Despite all, we are still human
and so, full of hope.
Will a breath of snow whisper past?
Will frost tweak at nose and toes?
No matter what, the ceiling
of the country celebrates time,
people, purpose.
We’ll stand in the back garden
and sip spiced hot wine.
Polly Stretton © 2020
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