Just a poem, no advice, no threat, no anger and no really pointing the finger.
Directed anger, too fools I point the finger, they're the ones with the worst stinger. I start with yours truly, I've been a fool most duely. For letting other fools, use against me their evil tools, stopping me with their stupid schools.
The fool party is over for good, every fool better make this understood. Even I now understand, I better strike down my own foolish demand. But when fool meets fool, we never really get rid of the drool.
Other fools make me salivate, ignoring them I do celebrate. I sat and figure, to help keep my finger off the trigger. My brain figures big, stay away from the pig.
Directed anger loses its target, the brain eventually does forget. Lifes looking for a few good fools, so pack up all your tools. Join in and join up, there's plenty room around for stupid corrupt.
The captivating music of birds and the enchanting beauty of roses have, each in their own right, inspired people around the world for as long as anyone can remember. How the two combine with the challenges faced by a struggling writer in Georgia to c
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