That oil painting course I meant to take,
letters unwritten, library books unread,
a special message for a birthday cake,
scores of poems imprisoned in my head.
Those posh dinners that remained uncooked
the room unpapered, the marathon not run,
holidays and theatre trips I didn’t book,
photographs not taken, the diet failed again.
The ends of years are dusted with regrets –
stillborn and stunted things, half formed schemes,
drawers stuffed with forgotten projects,
shapeless thoughts and embryonic dreams.
Time now to sweep them all away –
New Year, new resolutions, another day.
Liz McPherson