There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring’s honied cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness–to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.
“By John Keats”
Sometimes in haste we forget its taste, we run focused on nothing real.
Sometimes in working we forget its meaning, the results just one goal and then another none satisfying.
In drinking in excess, smoking the drug, the abuse of this body– we forget it is all there is. Yes, this body, none to swap.
This life, this body ours till death, no one else has a place, nothing can interlope or alter the course.
Not for any other to trifle, Not for anyone to pluck
For this finite time, This course into which we have been thrust, Let us do our part, Remain happy, Stay Happy Whatever course, whatever price Never forgetting So soon it all ends, the joy you could have snatched, the sweetness, the breeze, the laughter, the fun Oh how sweet.
Waste of time silly for at some point it is straight into the ground or just plain ashes. Focus on joy, getting it and keeping your own. Keeping it all.
Staying Happy… Oh, what a sweet sweet life Sweet Sweet life of mine!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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