Each day comes with its troubles
We wish for it to be taken away,
For we awake every morn full of hope
And pray for strength for us to cope.
Many times… Many times…
We wish to know what the morrow brings,
That also gives us hope.
For we hope tomorrow will come,
And per chance, wipe our worries away
Sadly, ’tis not so,
For life is not certain,
Indeed one can kick the bucket
Whilst he plans for the morrow
And go the way of all flesh;
When he tells his soul to be merry
One cannot know what the day shall bring
Whether good or bad
But one thing is certain
We shall one day,
Breathe our last
We may not be sure of many things
Death is the certainty of life.
(c) Chukwudi I.