Tomorrow I’ll laugh, but today is for crying.
Tomorrow I’ll sing,
but today is for sighing
as the breeze through the trees
brings back memories
of our yesterdays.
We never thought about tomorrow.
We lived for today.
What need had we of yesterday?
Now I’d steal or borrow
to end this sorrow.
Tomorrow I’ll laugh, but today is for crying.
Today I can’t, but tomorrow’s for trying
to pack up my memories of yesterday:
holding hands on the walkway
then a kiss under the archway
when you gave me that bouquet;
our silly horseplay
when we danced to reggae;
my substandard soufflé
when you wanted gourmet;
our getaway in Galway
when you played the Steinway;
then we drank Cabernet in the cafe
and you told jokes that were risqué
about me in my lingerie...
when we were in our heyday,
before we forgot how to play when we turned grey.
Oh, today is a sad day –
how I’d love a replay.
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