Ring Out the Old and ring in the new,
A cliché oft repeated at this time,
Needs be rethought each time it is aired
For the permanent lacuna it always thrusts.
A season’s memory is in its antiquity
And all revels are but iteration
From times lived the same way all through,
Awhile season, clime and enterprise.
The old is not dead but alive in revel time,
Conjoining mirth with memory
With the hope it may not be forgotten
As the mundane cycle returns to balance.
If the old hurts, let the new be aright
That changes the wrong, never letting it rebound,
From lessons had of experience
That harks to the past that’s ever so nascent.
Will you still say the past is humbug?
That a new year can make you amnesic?
Ring in the new by all means,
Sans cutting the root to eat the fruit.