Song: Ten Years Poem by Dave SmithWhite

Will we all remember August, in 2021?
In triumph or in disgust, who knows what drama comes?

Will we all remember September, in 2022?
Will we stoke the embers, then claim that no-one knew?

Will it feel like revolution, in 2023?
As the only real solution, to the grip of misery.

Will we all remember December, in 2024?
Where the pathways of November, descend to civil war.

Misgivings for a future, all dress suit and bow-tie.
That fashions living culture, the poor need not apply.

The passion that still nurtures, the noble righteous drive,
Is rationed yet in new found hope, in 2025!

All drear portents and omens, on the cruise ship River Styx,
Care of P.J. Farmer, and his magic box of tricks.

Yes now I'm into fantasy, built of golden bricks.
It's something that no-one can see in 2026.

It's something that no-one can see in 2027.
The poet's flight on silver wings shall soar unto the heavens.

It's something that no-one can see in 2028.
But in the realm of sheer malignancy: fake news and sham debate!

It's something that no-one can see in 2029.
Who will gain ascendency and who will sure decline?

So forgive this bard's hard leanings, to life and liberty.
Fictions have their meanings, as gleaned from history.

Going deep AI with feelings, getting down and dirty,
Or stay asleep at the wheel and sing of 2030.

And sing of 2030!