Wishing for a grand tomorrow

Brings a faint scent of sorrow

The melancholy with the present

It depends on the mind’s content

Proceed as if there’s no tomorrow

Time’s coffers will not grow

Its pockets are not as deep as we think

It has less to offer with every passing wink

Tomorrow isn’t here yet

Sitting in the present we fret

Patience runs thin as we wait

Each passing moment adds more weight

Tomorrow is as distant as the forgotten past

The mind wanders in both, making awareness fast

Tomorrow is our greatest invention

To provide the mind a steady pension