Life rules

A good friend said: I know,
let's write a list of life rules,
one for each year of our lives.
I wrote 38, he wrote 35
(damn him);
some of ours crossed over.
Some of his I wished I'd put on mine,
despite having more lines on the notepaper.
Some of mine I should really abide by.
Endings of a year make your heart heavy:
what should I have done?
what should I not have done?
I can think of a hundred answers to each,
as I'm sure you can too.
Someone chucking out a post-Christmas
sack of rubbish onto the street
makes a crowd of pigeons clatter away from
their pathetic, spindly-branched tree,
up out into the grey swirl -
it's only a few days until a new year
and of course I fully expect it to be significant,
or healing.
It'll come around and we will be okay,
no big fanfare or change,
the bins will get collected,
the pigeons will resume their post,
light lingers a little longer each day
and before I know it,
I'll be sowing sweet peas again,
lost in the slick roll of time,
trying to remember my life rules,
wondering what I'll pick for rule 39.