in lieu of new work,

please accept this poem by Elizabeth Bishop:

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

for old times, after Robert Burns

we two have run about the fields
and wearied out our throats
till when we staggered into bed
dressed still in muddied coats.

and we have journeyed down the road
from morning's sun till dawn,
yet still between us oceans roar
and heavy rivers run.

but surely you shall sit with me
while sun shines and by fire.
we'll raise a glass to keep us warm
until the moon retires.

so here's a hand, my trusted friend,
and here's to thee and thine.
tonight we stand, hand in hand
to welcome brave, new times.

for old times, and old times,
we've kindness yet for old times,
that old times never be forgot,
that old souls remind us not
forget old times.