writer's yearbook

the sun has broached the subject of the dawn
and stars like over-stayers take the hint;
the new year labours, straining to be born
and tired sentiments submit to print.
i lie awake and contemplate my cup:
half-empty or half-full - i'm bound to ask;
how can i say the level's moving up
when i don't know how much is in the flask?
my words, like ardent lovers plead their case
but turn to dust in unbelievers' ears
though lips and fingers often leave their trace
all poetry dissolves and disappears.
but sure as yon horizon weighs the sun
i'll bear my burden til my story's done.