The years-old and new

a poem by Aishwarya Mohapatra

The old year passes,
Just like the old trees,
Which wither in the winter.
The new year comes,
Just like the young shoots,
Which prosper in the sun.
Whatever has passed
Will never come back,
The old year is the past.
It is hard bedrock,
Unchangeable.
The new year is the future.
It is soft young clay,
Yet to be moulded.
So, my dear friends,
Take some resolutions
And create revolutions,
For the new year is full of golden opportunities
For you to prosper.
So I wish that
May the new year,
Shower all kinds of happiness for you.