Save your love for me,
For on the morrow I shall need it more.
Today, my life is full
Of incidentals,
And good wishes,
And appointments
Made yesterday,
When I had a need for
Style,
And good health,
And a pleasant disposition,
Which was written on a small piece of paper,
For the pharmacist,
Who now knows me
To be depressed,
Which I am not,
But yesterday was.

Today is pain,
And will you write it away?
Or...must I bear the burden,
Causing the lines in my face
To lengthen,
Until my smile is nearly a frown,
And haunted eyes
Dart quickly with reflexive angulation,
And my shoulders slump forward,
As I draw inward
To protect myself from the pain.

But I ask you once again;
Will you love me on the morrow?
And if you answer, yea,
I will see you then,
When my burden has been relieved,
And the priest knows best,
As he gazes with haunted eyes
That dart quickly with reflexive angulation,
And he wonders to himself,
What his life would have been if he too...

But today,
He knows only pain,
And he draws further inward,
And inspects his flock,
And is curious who might know them better,
And he worries ever after,
If they will truly find love on the morrow,
Or like himself,
Suffer in silence?