I don’t want to know what I’ll do ’til I do it.
If it’s preordained, it’s too late to eschew it.
If it’s a surprise, I would say that I blew it,
for there’s no surprise when we simply redo it.
With each future sorrow when we must preview it,
there is no advantage—just more time to rue it.
The vase will still break and we’ll still have to glue it.
The syrup with spill and we’ll have to ungoo it.
Would I accept foresight or merely poo poo it?
When push came to shove, I guess that I would boo it!