This is the final year
the year of reaping and reward.

This is the summing up of all
we have been, the subtraction of
all things we were to be.

Did not our blood run
far too thin and cool?

What could we have done, being
what we were; our disconnected souls adrift,
our hearts impaled upon the sharp swords
of our weakness -

This is the equation;
here, the answer after this rich life:

The quantity of things we were,
the quantity of things we might have been
are cancelled out -

And empty, dead, magnificent physique
goes through the motions.

In the proud year of reaping and reward,
what can the gleaners know
of a bright harvest?