The ninth of the twelfth unit of a carefully chosen year,
Indeed the year of the nines
should one care to add the digits before they disappear.
And still without straight lines
toward a life built on human kindness, love and peace,
Yet we know no other who designs
that grand finale from afar for our ultimate release
from human bondage, save the nines?
But flower again this brave old world it surely must,
As sure as this sacred planet realigns
For all we have is toil and some godly form we trust.
by A.McTiernan
