The sky is clear and inky blue.
Crowds gather, looking upward,
As the last few minutes of the old year pass.
A question, a query, a rush to phones and watches,
Is it midnight yet? The crowd enquires,
Champagne poised, cigars at the ready,
As we await the farewell and the greeting.
And then, the city explodes,
From west to east a thousand fireworks take to the sky,
From the booming bombast of the Eye,
To the smaller displays along the meanders of the river.
What a vista, what a panorama,
What a start and what a chance,
The sky sparkles with joy,
The newborn year is nothing but potential.
Tomorrow the work will begin,
Return to normalcy, the resolutions kick in,
But now we stand transfixed,
As the sky is alive with silver and gold.