As our lives mingle in their own termoials
Stable as the weather, possible to interupt,
But never to be predicted, always to toil.
For who can tell for sure what the next day,
As moment by moment passes, may bring?
Is it possible to see beyond the present lay
Of moments creating seconds, minutes, years?
Each day passes, weather patterns move about,
Everything seems to repeat in the past, but
Change in the future, bringing worry and doubt.
So who can see what is yet to be seen?
No, say I, to do such things would be a lie,
As sure as death will never reach out for you.