Too many dwell with Yesterday,
Though her company be spent,
And dream and reminisce the time away.
Too many search for Tomorrow’s soft embrace
In which to lie still, content
Though never to the present turning face.
Yet Yesterday, long past, can never be retrieved;
And Tomorrow flies, not to us,
But with hastening onward speed.
Though Yesterday reminds of times
We’d like to live again,
Her memories are best as distant chimes.
And, alas, Tomorrow darts away;
For though Tomorrow is e’er Tomorrow,
She is never with Today.
Today, though dark and dismal she may be,
Is the only one active present gift:
The only of the three.