New years lingered still,

January bit coldly.

A father and daughter rest wearily,

The hospital unnervingly clean, time dredging slowly.

The daughter, afflicted, ailing, anguished,

Given a date, the end of the year,

Three-hundred and sixty-five days.

Father gifts her a promise,

Every day, he’ll visit, spirits he’ll lift,

Every day, a paper dragon will be folded,

Later released, off the cliffs,

The cliffs of his old home,

Of Norway.

This promise he did keep,

Every day, he visited her,

As time did creep,

Every day, another dragon was folded,

Her health serenely eroded,

As the doctors boded,

Through tomorrow, then tomorrow again.

Three-hundred and sixty-five days. 

Yet this year leaped,

The year leaped, promise unkept,

Three-hundred and sixty-six days.

He hurried on that heatless, horrible hour, 

Set in motion,

Skies grey, ground glossy,

The ice grasped and pulled, envious of his devotion,

He foolishly slipped, his ankle twisted.

Limping on, toxic thoughts cluster,

Too late, her last hour passed, he had missed it.

A tear was all he could muster.

Three-hundred and sixty-six origami dragons,

Stuck in a box, 

Stuck in a closet, 

Stuck in a quiet room.

Life continued to drag on,

Accented only by grey.

New years lingered still, like that day,

A man worked wearily,

Cubicle suffocating, life being drained,

His joy, the devil has claimed,

No longer matters, his heart is maimed,

Two scars now mar it.

Day by day, endless drudgery.

Life was written as a tragedy,

To which he lost to malady,

To which he came back home,

Alone.

Or perhaps, not home anymore.

Without them, perhaps just a house,

Abandoned, gone is love,

From its solemn walls.

“Perhaps,” He thought,

Amidst his sorrow,

“Perhaps I’ll pack and go back”,

“Go back to Norway”,

“Once again live my way”,

It took little more hesitation.

Upon the paper he signed,

Told his boss he resigned.

He went back to that house,

And began packing,

Teetering excitement,

Box after box, one caught is eye,

In her room, never could say “goodbye”.

The box was open, in it resides:

Three-hundred and sixty-six dragons.

And one diary, her diary,

Her thoughts and views,

It wouldn’t hurt to take a look,

For his sake, just one look.

Cracking open this memory, words began to sing:

She didn’t like origami,

Yet still folded paper with him.

She knew her doom was close,

Yet her smile shined most.

She didn’t care when she’s recast,

She just hoped her love would last.

She was just glad her final laughter,

Was spent with her father.

He had stopped,

His guilt had popped,

Restlessly racing around the room,

He realised,

“I didn’t fail in her eyes”.

Atop those sacred cliffs,

In hopes her spirits, he’ll lift,

Finally fulfilling,

That New Year's promise.

In his hands, a box,

Inside that box:

Three-hundred and Sixty-six dragons.

The father opened the box,

Unfastening the locks,

Burst forth a paper swarm,

Despite the cold breeze, he felt warm.

The dragons softly glided,

Her soul they calmly guided,

But one stayed,

It’s rainbow paper shivering,

Perhaps it’s afraid?

So in his hands, he took it,

Released it into the air,

Happy, it looked it,

Until it landed upon father’s head.

“Why?” he asked,

“Why don’t you fly”, perplexed

“Your free!”

The dragon simply replied:

“Three-hundred and sixty-five dragons”

“Their fate was to fly”,

“To be released”.

Father’s eyes barely dry,

“My fate”,

“Was to protect her father”.