Savoir Faire

Today’s tomorrow comes not this day,

As the sorrow are but here to stay;

How hollow can yet be the month of May?

Smeared yellow all brings thoughts to flay.

Don’t follow! `Tis not something money can pay:

Hearts will bellow never, not in its gay!

My fellow, love let not hearts be left in nay,

Its over-shadow visibly, propensity to slay!

Tomorrows’ flow comes… bank not on Sunday;

You’ll wallow indubitably as you’ve mislay

The glow, redundant, you denote not the ray.