In short months we’ll be packing.
Mayflower boxes, paper wrapping.
Box cutters, clear tape, stacks for Goodwill,
Trashcans overfilled.
One house emptied, another half full,
Life a yearn of push and pull.
One foot here, the other there,
Four moves, enough to gray my hair.
A life of goodbyes, a year of hellos.
Solemn hearts quiet, mellow.
Time goes on, tomorrow comes.
Auld lang syne softly sung.

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