Poetic Trumpet

There’s a day called tomorrow,

A day expected to appear upon the stage,

A day arriving with its own page,

A day destined to take over from today.

A day that has never been promised to any man,

A day whose mind no one truly knows,

A day arriving with its own sorrow,

A day arriving with its own happiness.

A day escorted by its own Satan,

A day flanked by its own God,

A day coming with its own wise men,

A day coming with its own foolish men.

A day arriving with its own tragedies,

A day carrying its own remedies,

A day bringing its own uncertainties,

A day opening its own opportunities.

A day galloping beneath its assigned moon,

A day marching toward its appointed doom,

A day carrying secrets no man can see,

A day holding mysteries yet to be.

 

There’s a day called tomorrow—

It waits beyond the reach of today;

No man can command what it will bring,

No man can force it to reveal its way.

Tomorrow is coming, whether we are ready or not;

It will arrive with what destiny has brought.

So let today be lived with wisdom and care,

For tomorrow is coming—

But tomorrow makes no promise to be fair.