I've seen the future in a field of fresh-fallen snow,
tiny, little footprints made from stumbling to and fro,
shallow sled tracks up and down a gently sloping hill,
and over there a small, spastic, fantastic snow angel.
Then I have seen that future never see the light of day,
and seen that snow go untrodden til it melted away.
I've seen the future in seeds of a dandelion fluff,
along would come a tiny, clumsy hand to pluck and puff,
and life would flow on the wind like in maiden from fellow,
then that little hand and a field of yellow would grow.
Then I have seen those white fluffs get tossed and lost in the wind,
and seen that future tear far too badly to ever mend.
I've seen the future in a woman's pair of empty arms,
she would gently rock and coo and use her motherly charms,
and she would be rewarded with a giggle and a smile,
and a tiny hand wrapped around her finger awhile.
Then I have seen that future disappear like a blood stain,
scrubbed out of some clothing until nothing does remain.
I've often grieved these futures that never came to be,
but it is like trying to grieve an unknown mystery,
or grieving an imaginary friend once forgotten,
or an apple core once it is discarded and rotten.
Still I try to honor futures that never came to call,
by caring for what will be and it standing for them all.