My problem with tomorrow is
Not foretold by the sky.
It’s not the Autumn morning rain
That comes, and pours, then dies.
My problem with tomorrow is
Not poverty or war.
It’s not the type of moving fear
That braver men stand for.
My problem with tomorrow is
Not quite a fear of death.
It’s not a fear of knowing which
Will be my final breath.
My problem with tomorrow is
The same as everyone’s.
My problem with tomorrow is
Tomorrow always comes.
My first attempt at written poetry.
© Lewis Hyden