Poetry

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The future is coming they say real soon;am still
down here in the Month of June,when July steps in
i may be here again,the past is not so long ago;
yesterday just a crack in time,since any day just
last's awhile,who knows the future or can tell its
Mime,another line in time such perpetual motion,
like a spinning Top till it goes flop,our limits are
our own each day;the end is never far away,while
there is here we have time too stare,into the mist is
there time for bliss,who sees beyond where the
pale is real;when The Almighty Father cast's HIS
SHADOW,time is then no more forever,who could call
it never,then.
Joe.

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