349 and 350: The Seven Days of December: vi and vii

The many drinks of yuletide, name them all:

horchata and hot chocolate are just two,

wassail and apple cider, eggnog, too,

some new, and some have lingered-in from Fall.

Some want a short glass, others want one tall,

and some will, with a mug or thermos, do.

Where’er the nectar comes, it comes to you

with heaping shares of cheer for large and small.

Drink up the ichor of the holiday,

and have an extra cup, and haply stay

at feasts and invocations where it’s served,

to all our year’s hard work (or not) deserved,

and gather into Dionysus’ cup

the wine of Winter! Drink, O, drink it up!

~~~

Alas! To say that you have gone away,
to know that nevermore are we to meet,
to see the final, fortune-heavy day
that's goodbye now to one, and one to greet.

The herald played his songs, and said his word.
The change-guard played his part well, every whit,
to those who sang along, to those who heard,
to those who never even knew of it.

And here he packs his instruments and scrolls,
the new year now invoked, and here to stay.
To come again, reprising his carols,
when some three-hundred days have passed away.

Now mute shall be the air. All things are new.
What shall the looming year before us do?