William Shakespeare

Will it happen?

O'er yonder mountain a question doth linger, 'Will it happen?' It doth vex the mind, for the answer it doth bringer. To the stars we look for a sign, a portent of what is yet to come; Aye, we ponder, hope, and wish, yet we know not what will be done. The future is a great unknown, a vast sea of possibilities; Shall it be a wondrous thing, or a thing of much calamities? Mayhap it'll be a great success, or a monumental failure; One thing is certain, the outcome is not ours to control or to alter. We can toil and strive and plan, we can hope and we can pray; But at the end of the day, the outcome is not ours to say. We can guess, we can speculate, we can ponder and we can muse; But in the end, the answer remains a great mystery for us to peruse. Will it happen? Who can know? The future is a fickle thing; Aye, it doth come and it doth go, and no one can make it sing. So, will it happen? We shall see, for the future is not ours to know. Aye, we can only wait and pray, and then the answer will show.