To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this pretty pace from day to day.
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death.
Out, Out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player.
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage.
And then is heard no more. It is a tale.
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
YOU ARE READING
To-morrow
RandomPoem I wrote in year 11. Three years ago. Random Poetry My song/poem
