who cares about english exams
when there’s flowers opened like hands?
who gives a shit about your ex
when there is, in fact, an even fairer sex!
remnants of a midsummer mist on a flower’s fold —
an aesthetic joy that i find infinitely untold!
do not measure out your life in coffee spoons
nor in women, power, or even dubloons!
but in how many fresh faces blooming
and how many fresh flowers smiling.
dilute your woes into the fresh air,
and feel the sunlight on your hair.
Byron was right when he said before;
"I love not man the less, but Nature more"