New years are new slates on which to write
Whatever we, or fate, decide is best.
But as the first day's sun sets out of sight,
Sinking like a fire in the west,
It's left somewhat unclear which of us two,
Myself or fate, will seize the new year's chalk.
Will I accomplish what I want to do,
Or will I stare down fate - and simply balk?
I cannot tell, no more than I could say
Whether the rain or snow will fall today;
But I can guess, that as in most new years,
I'll write some things that fate will not erase,
But lest it find itself in some arrears,
Fate too will etch some choice words in that place.
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