Y
is for Year.
And the Year changes all. In spring the cherry trees were green.
They were white with flowers in summertime, red in autumn with
their Yield of fruit, and now they are black and bare. The goslings
on the lake, once Yellow as the Yolks of eggs, have gray feathers
now. The birds that Yearned over their Young have flown from the
Yew tree Yonder. The children’s shoes. Yet too large in January,
are now too small in December.
There they all are, down in the lane. Yelling and dancing to keep warm and wishing for Yakskin coats. Andrew is Yapping at their heels, and Willoughby, like a Yahoo, is Yawning in everyone’s face.
“The Year is going.” says Mary Poppins.
“Where does it go?” the children ask.
And a deep familiar voice answers:
“The Year goes where our dreams all go.
East of the sun and west of the moon.
Where tomorrow is always behind us
And Yesterday comes too soon.
So Yank up the anchor and sail away
On the Yacht of Yours truly. Admiral Boom.”
“Just one of my Yarns!” he says. “Well, messmates, looking forward to Yule? That’s what Christmas was called when I was a bit of a Youngster.”
What a happy thought! Trimming the tree, hanging the stockings, and unpacking them in the morning. Christmas or Yule, what does it matter?
“Yes!” says everyone.
