It matters not a little
To resent, fuss or fret;
Life is a fluke for its most,
Not a cut-and-dried fate.
When “luck” turns its back,
When the going gets aghast,
If the present seems bleak,
Live the future, leave the past.
|| Know no more about me, I, me and myself, in all; Than the perturbations of thoughts and feels, That, everyday, rise and fall.|| For an older version of my blog, visit here.
In the wilderness of the green lush trees, Between the sea and the hills; Mighty Poseidon of the seas - Upon the dazzling beauty of Kerkyra...
No comments:
Post a Comment