THE SHOP THAT SOLD TOMORROWS

THE SHOP THAT SOLD TOMORROWS

I found a little shop one night, with no name upon the door,
Its dusty shelves held tomorrows, hundreds, maybe more.
Some futures shimmered bright as gold, some faded into grey,
Some vanished when I reached for them, then quietly slipped away.

The keeper never spoke a word, he simply smiled at me,
Then handed me an empty box and said, We’ll have to see.
I took it home and opened it, expecting something rare,
Inside lay one single word tomorrow, waiting there.

So now I never fear tomorrow, however strange the view,
For every dawn still holds a page that no one has written to.
Sometimes the finest things in life can’t sit upon a shelf,
Tomorrow isn’t bought at all — it’s written by yourself.

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