The Mystery Of Tomorrow Poem by Herbert Dry

Tomorrow will be what it
holds
Things of tomorrow are yet
to unfold

Tomorrow is like a book not
opened
Between the covers we know not
the words spoken

We think about tomorrow and make
our plans
It's like blowing smoke
into a fan

We know not the mysteries of
tomorrow
From it's time we may
not borrow

Today we make promises we intend
to keep
Tomorrow tramples them under
it's feet

We best be silent about
tomorrow
It may bring us joy it may
bring us sorrow

Tomorrow has no sun in
the sky
It has no moon need we
ask why

Upon the things of tomorrow we
must not rely
Tomorrow is like a bird on wing into
the wind it will
fly