Anno Domini


Christmas is through,

Pack the tree.

What becomes new

We can’t foresee.


Glitter becomes rust,

People lose cheer.

Ornaments collect dust

For another year.


Store the wreath,

Not the start.

Let what’s beneath

Fill your heart.

John Northcutt Young


About John Northcutt Young

I write. Remember making-up stories from spelling words in the fifth grade. A journalism degree followed. Thanks for looking.
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