Midnight is a purely human thing
In which a day, a year, a century,
Leaves behind its bloodstained legacy,
Looking to what good the next might bring.
Each of us, this new millennium,
Near midnight will begin to feel the awe,
New wondering what this universe is for,
Immersed in what has been and is to come.
Under midnight's gaze something will end
More beautiful than we can comprehend.

love these, another one

How beautiful the turning of the year!
A moment artificial yet profound:
Point upon an arbitrary chart
Passing like a breath upon the heart,
Yearning with anticipation wound,
New hope new harbored in old-fashioned cheer.
Even when the boundary line is clear,
We recognize the oneness of the ground.
Years, like circles, do not end or start
Except we lay across their truth our art,
Adjusting dates as they go round and round
Revolving to a tune long sung and dear.