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In nine hundred and fifty years
Will man still have two eyes, two ears?
Will he still start a child and when
He grows old be a child again?

In nine hundred and fifty years
Will fate still flood men's eyes with tears?
And when he's walking in the street
Will man still move upon his feet?
Or will he have some wheels instead,
Or great big wings upon his head?

Nine hundred and fifty years from now
Will man have udders like a cow?
Will he have grown to twice as big,
Or shrunk to the size of a mini pig?

And will he still be taught in schools
And have to obey stupid rules?
And will he still think jokes are funny,
And swap his time to work for money.

In twenty-nine-thousand-and-sixty-six
Will buildings still be made of bricks?
Or will we live in plastic homes
Or giant caves or shiny domes?

In nine hundred and fifty years
Will man still fight with guns and spears?
Or will he live in peace at last
And war and hunger and be long gone past?

Nine hundred and fifty years from now
Will they read these words somehow
And in a classroom will they speak
About the poet Mr Peek
And how he came to Silverdale
To read these words and tell his tale
And will they think it strange to know
These words were written
So, so long ago?