Whose bell strikes hard the last hour of the year?
With few fire crackers futile in response,
Through frozen air to the frost-bitten pier.
My pulse grows pallid as the candle on sconce.
The party has been over for the eve,
And so has much of the dainty cuisine.
No dialogues or soft smiles come to cleave
The skinned table to see beams rotten green.
The cheeks pipe peace and thriving wonderland.
A happy family with kids score high
In all exams and projects as mom planned.
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All neighbors hear the loudness and the bell,
But I could hardly smirk for a farewell.