A time will come, just wait, it’s destiny Of course it will, you bet, any money. Here, see, it’s clear, it’s carved on my palm, Come wealth, come fame, come dame, also a farm, A mansion small with twenty bedrooms, park, Garages, cars and bikes, a lake, a bark (A boat, that means, betimes we grope for rhyme) And critical acclaim for poems sublime. All will be mine, but when? The years Have gone, a worried daze or happy haze Always some dream or otherwise some fears. Now there’s more was than will, and greatness nears, It's round the corner, years or months or mere days Away, a tease, it fades and reappears.