This is the last time I will write my life
Into a daily sonnet, those things great,
Exciting, middling, sad, and sometimes strife,
Through stubbornness one cannot understate.
Tonight, I’ll sing to thousands and the sky
To fete a civic gem’s centenary
Then dinner, where we’ll bid the year goodbye
And sonnet cycle done successfully.
Tomorrow, will it feel strange not to write,
Thus letting loose the stories in my head?
Or will those nagging feelings in the night
Inspire me to read a book instead?
To paraphrase the words of one less boring
Who knows? I’ll get the sled. Let’s go exploring!