I find that every New Year's Eve when other people are going
out, when you have six kids it's very hard to go out
New Year's Eve, or any other time for that matter.
I find that I stay home and write a poem.
And I wrote a poem for New Year, 1975.
I was not that thrilled with 1974.
So I was really kind of glad to see it go.
And this poem shows that I had high hopes for 1975.
Now it wasn't that hot, but one can always hope.
One should know that my father's name was Sam.
My mother's name was Thelma.
New Year 1975.
Lucy, by Sam, out of Thelma, limps down a ramp
toward the rest of her life.
With 38 candles in her hair, she is a princess
of burning buildings, leaving the year
that tried to consume her.
Her bones are bright as they witch for water
and even her eyes cry, fire, fire,
but she opens her heart to the risk of flame
and waits for an ocean of days.
[APPLAUSE]