December 31: Last, Not Least

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 paraph...