Ode to the passing year

Soft and muffled, the whispering voices,
A hurried pattering of the feet,
Some gay, some blue, in galant choices,
365 troops in the fleet!

Past the window I see them march,
Some wet, some dry, some freezing cold,
Some who will court me to the grave
And others whose stories will be told!

Some filled me with hope and with joy,
A few brought with them despair,
But each was unique in what he taught,
To smile, to live and to dare!

Each is a gift now, forever kept,
Of memories - in the vault of time,
Many bedecked with fond rememberances,
Sweetly forged, some bonds sublime!

The last one pauses and gently smiles,
Beckoning mysteries waiting in store,
Prodding me on to some promises new,
The new year softly knocks the door!