Woeful Year

Farewell, thou woeful year, Of your woes I got my full share And grieved my heart in pain and care But now, of your days, I have spend the last That onwards you be known my past As I, with glee, set my back upon your sight And look ahead on tomorrow’s year With the last shred of my bartered hope It was indeed in vain That we labored and toiled As we strove to climb the ever-rising mountain And, in hope of some paltry prize Raced in pursuit of howling gales, Or vainly still, upon a rained day Mopped the sodden floors of roofless huts Till our bloody-sweat did stream The valleys of this our cursed land As we wailed our somber song of woe In sighed notes and groaned tones! And for dance our flimsy starved selves Did sway and limb in the wind, Cracking our horned hands In applause to our fated doom! But farewell then, woeful year It is here that we do apart: You to the tales of a past, And me to the beckoning of a future Farewell indeed, Year of my woes!