The years are interchanging once again.
The one that had been new is reckoned old,
And as it ends another year begins
Whose youthful bloom will fade to see it age.
This is the cycle humans have devised
From nature's rhythms matched to their own needs
So as to mark the passage of brief lives
And lend a calming order to a stream
In which event would follow on event
Without a structure to direct affairs.
So thus we profit from inventive skills
And set about achievement of our goals,
Though yet we need the advent of good luck,
And wish good fortune still upon ourselves.
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