The day after my death,
I stood in the corner
of the ceiling watching girls,
my young friends.
They sat at a table,
laughing and singing off-key
a merry drinking song
about a Scotchman and a blue ribbon.
They played euchre,
shared a bottle or two
of peach brandy,
and their cheeks were pink.
'Tomorrow! ' they shouted,
then: 'Today! '
Their laughter and chatter
looked forward and around.
They talked of travel,
and further schooling, and men,
they cheered next day, next year,
and the bright future that was theirs.
I watched and smiled,
as I knew I was already forgotten.
They knew only the joy of today,
and saw only the hope of tomorrow.
Due to this, I was not known,
for in shouting 'Today! Tomorrow! '
they had forgotten yesterday,
and I was only of yesterday.
4 March 2oo8
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem