Years, like decades, may end up dishonest.
This year has been the most dishonest of years;
A year of old men who wallow in hate.
They get their stupid kicks from war and death,
And wield their pudgy pens like howitzers.
Not much to recommend it, you might think,
Yet, somewhere, a woman helps her neighbour,
A girl gives succour to a wounded boy,
And suddenly, we see candles of hope
Burning brightly in the dark of loathing.
