Slappy Poo Beer

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This poem was composed in 1802 for a merry party that used to meet each year at Goethe’s house.  I’m posting it now, having missed the actual eve due to drunkenness and hiding scared dogs under blankets. 2022 has been a stinker upon the Cloud, but time will take care of that, and so on Esme flies, future-bound, shrugging off the year’s grim shackles.

*Raises her glass and wishes one and all of her fine friends and followers the very best with bells on for 2023  Good luck folks, if things don’t improve I’m suing*

*blows a kiss*

ON THE NEW YEAR.

FATE now allows us,

‘Twixt the departing
And the upstarting,
Happy to be;
And at the call of
Memory cherish’d,
Future and perish’d
Moments we see.

Seasons of anguish,–
Ah, they must ever
Truth from woe sever,
Love and joy part;
Days still more worthy
Soon will unite us,
Fairer songs light us,
Strength’ning the heart.

We, thus united,
Think of, with gladness,
Rapture and sadness,
Sorrow now flies.
Oh, how mysterious
Fortune’s direction!
Old the connection,
New-born the prize!

Thank, for this, Fortune,
Wavering blindly!
Thank all that kindly
Fate may bestow!
Revel in change’s
Impulses clearer,
Love far sincerer,
More heartfelt glow!

Over the old one,
Wrinkles collected,
Sad and dejected,
Others may view;
But, on us gently
Shineth a true one,
And to the new one
We, too, are new.

As a fond couple
‘Midst the dance veering,
First disappearing,
Then reappear,
So let affection
Guide thro’ life’s mazy
Pathways so hazy
Into the year!

1802. (2023)