Deafening tone, Makes me not alone, Continually singing a sorrow. Bring not today, For I beg keep away, That lament until Tomorrow.
It whispers so loud, “You are lost in the crowd, Lost in a sea of harrow.” It’s censure grew — strewth! Mocking my sad truth, Threatening what follows Tomorrow.
I attempt to evade — Stopped by a palisade, Yes, stopped by a wall of yarrow. Plucking mere few, Intent to make new, My wounds and be healed by Tomorrow.
“Sweet yarrow await, I shall be kept late, By that tormentor who inflicts sorrow,” But yarrow soon will fade, Leave my mind in the shade, and My heart waiting still for Tomorrow.