2 + 0 + 1 + 7 = 1 [sonnet]
It’s time to clear the air — to wipe the slate;
to cleanse our lives from interfering strands;
to free ourselves from those who vacillate —
from those who drain us with their vain demands.
Make this the year we choose to leave behind
the ones who suck the lifeblood from our soul.
You know just who I mean: they undermined
your confidence — your dignity they stole.
No doubt you said you’d do that every year;
although it started well it soon regressed.
But now’s the year your hopes will persevere;
you’ll dare make true those dreams you’ve unexpressed.
For two, oh, one and seven comes to one.
So let’s make this a first: You’ve now begun!
© Alan Morrison, 2017
The Naked Troubadour 