New things are created when old times end.

When all creations old may fade and tear,

As all old arts are not met with good fare.

All ages new may flourish and amend,

Away with the old will the new bloom send.

Like to a horse's herd a sickened mare,

The old shall slip away from the earth's care.

Now the new grows where the old did offend.

 Though the old the world shall still remember,

What was once loved cannot be forgot.

The old left a mark where the new does not,

For this loss the earth may shed some sparse tears.

But as all  do in closing December,

We must face the new without any fears.