Why is it that our hindsight,

Is always twenty-twenty?

But when we think about tomorrow,

We don't have a clue, not any.


We may have a premonition,

That something is not right,

Fret about it all long day,

Then toss and turn that night.


Still tomorrow stays a mystery,

A secret kept from us,

And maybe it was meant to be,

So that we would not fuss.


So we can better handle,

What tomorrow brings our way,

Struggle to get through it,

Make another ' yesterday.'


©  2004  Loree (Mason) O’Neil


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