Midwinter And The Midday Sun

Here we stand, at the turning of the year.
As much before as is behind.
Paths are vague – timidly ahead we peer.
Will time to come treat us unkind?

Here I stand, my shade cast heavy and long.
It lies ahead unless I turn.
Words are vague – but play an old-known song.
Will time bring us new rhymes to learn?