Wonderful tomorrow song

It can surface suddenly
like something bloated,
greenish rotten
a memory
can surface
perhaps while on the train
on a wednesday
or in bed a saturday night
perhaps something about
hiding in the wardrobe
singing the
"wonderful tomorrow song"
that I made up
silently in my head
while he was searching
all around the house
knocking over furniture
I thought the tune was pretty
and I made it all myself
"Wonderful tomorrow
tomorrow it will all be over
wonderful tomorrow"
and it had magic in it

now I am grown
and of a rational mind
and so I count from one to
one hundred
because somewhere between
one
and one hundred
the picture will
sink and be gone
somewhere

wonderful

between one and

tomorrow

one hundred

tomorrow

it will be gone

it will all be over

Very interesting, Isagel. I see the poem alludes to something, which one probably should not ask of, but personalized (almost signatured) coping mechanisms mostly outline the poem.
Of course, memories will oddly (and randomly) jump out of seemingly nowhere, whether they seem pleasant or otherwise. Out of all times and places, however, "tomorrow" seems the day when troubles will disappear, and, as the famous quote says, "tomorrow never dies."
Beautifully written, Isagel; I always look forward to your poetry.