To-ing and a fro-ing, n'er that way nor this.
Rolling and pitching, round and round.
"A'tishoo, a'tishoo, we all fall down."
Piggy in the middle.
Past, that a'way.
Future, this a'way,
And the present, right now, or was it just then?
No, wait a minute, it’s right now.
Here it comes, catch it quick.
Damn missed it.
It’s past now.
As for the future, you can guarantee the futures always looming.
Lurking darkly, just out of view over the hill there yonder.
A fine filly or braggart depending on your leaning.
Puffed right full of possibilities and brilliances.
And the noise, like no other, blowing and a trumpeting,
All manner of ominous portents of what is to come.
(Extract from the 'Diary of a Serial Photographer')