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The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
—Mary Oliver

alright let me tell you story of ballamori you see i was walking down town when i saw this fine thing it was a plasma gun shining like gods ass when whiped as i went go grab out of nowhere heretics flew down and started to attack everyone and everything even the cats so i called my guardsmen buddies as you know eath pop is low so only 450000 men showed up we killed everyone of them and took no captives the end...

its a good day to die when you know reasons why..

(∩>﹏<)⊃━☆ﾟ.*

wut mudachud ill call my m8s on you "opens dial book to see blank space" aww dam