12-31-23: A Number's Existential Crisis

'Twas the twilight of the year, a twinkling tiara, December 31st, digits dancing dunes in the Sahara. One, two, three, one, two, three, it's a prance, A numerical Irish step dance, given a whimsical chance. In the calendar's corners, a magical mystery unfurls, As the date spins and swirls, like a jester's jingling twirls. One, two, three, one, two, three, in a line, A date so divine, it deserves its own shrine, so fine! But wait, what's this? A satirical twist! The date's just a number, it doesn't exist! One, two, three, one, two, three, what's the fuss? Wait… all dates are human-created, YES, by us! The numbers are shocked, feeling superfluous, In the grand scheme of things, oh so ridiculous! So here's to the New Year, let's raise a toast, To the date that we've come to boast the most. With champagne that sparkles, and tastes like the sun, 2023 is yet undone, run from the old, to the new one, run, run, run! In the canon of the digits, a lesson we see, Time is a construct, as fluid as the sea. So let's celebrate the moments, both big and small, For, in the end, they're the most precious of all.