"A thousand years seem like a day..."

Holiday

Time pulls the final portal fast,
Grey curtains out the stains of yesteryear,
The word that shoulders grief is cast.

From salty flats an arid blast
Clears threshing floors of any careless tear
Time pulls. The final portal fast

Is made, the closing sentence passed.
The protests start, rich faces slick with fear.
The word that shoulders grief is cast.

Ten thousand thick they stand aghast,
Each red-rimmed moon, as, solemn in its sphere,
Time pulls the final portal. Fast

For feast and feasting unsurpassed,
The climb for rest, the twisted heart to hear
The word that shoulders. Grief is cast

Into the flame, and gladness will outlast
Affliction’s chains and forge a brave frontier.
Time pulls the final portal fast.
In gold the word that shoulders grief is cast.