Time flies backwards when we dream;

In each invasion of the past

We meet with those who are long gone

And seek to settle gripes and scores.

But dreams never pierce the future,

That misty land of things to come.

 

To dream the future, we search out

That crammed crevasse of oddities

Where forecasts, estimations, lurk,

And fight our battles to construct

The heaps of probability.

Sadly, such methods rarely work.