What will the new dawn awaken
To this little corner of earth
Where we wait with wandering wonder
At the advent of daylight’s rebirth?
Will skies be sunny with luminous luster
Or dank with the dreariness of cheerless
clouds?
Will the winds make us cower, the rains
drown the flowers,
Or shall we assemble in frolicsome crowds?
Harken the prophets of prognostication,
The gurus of guesswork and technologies,
Whose bold postulations are mere
speculation
Given in faith but without guarantees.
And we give them credit,
And we consign blame to
These ardent messengers of prophesy
For plans that we make,
For plans that we cancel,
For plans that we modify with impunity.
So, harken, my frolicsome friend, to their
foresight
With dubious wisdom before you cavort.
Though nothing is certain
Til they pull back the curtain
No harm comes from heeding the weather report.
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