There is no tomorrow, don’t lie to me,
No, there really is,
Never; it’s just an abstraction,
“Present” is ever present, can’t you see?
So what! I don’t mind waiting for it frequently,
The way the seeds linger to meet the sunlight,
There you go, an idealist!
I’m proud to be so; honestly.
Don’t talk like Beckett’s Estragon,
I would rather stand by my point, even if I am alone.