The mistress

Tomorrow, this mistress of mine,

always just beyond reach.

She seems to flit ahead of me, dangling another day of life,

like carrot on a string.

The focus of many a daydream, she whispers of what she may hold for me,

of what she may wear for me.

A blanket of fresh snow coating the earth,

or a field of tall grass rippling, swaying, with a music

that is the wind.

Tomorrow, that sly temptress of possibilities

forever taunting, forever waiting for me.

But I can’t forsake today,

that solid sister to tomorrow,

the mistress I wake to, again and again

and again.