He was going to be all that a mortal should be—Tomorrow.
No one should be kinder or braver than he—Tomorrow.
A friend who was troubled and weary he knew,
Who'd be glad of a lift and who needed it, too;
On him he would call and see what he could do—Tomorrow.

Each morning he stacked up the letters he'd write—Tomorrow.
And thought of the folks he would fill with delight—Tomorrow.
It was too bad, indeed, he was busy today,
And hadn't a minute to stop on his way;
More time he would have to give others, he'd say—Tomorrow.

The greatest of workers this man would have been—Tomorrow.
The world would have known him, had he ever seen Tomorrow.
But the fact is he died and he faded from view
And all that he left here when living was through
Was a mountain of things he intended to do
Tomorrow.
 

By Edgar Guest