Another sun had risen
On the twenty fourth of August
One thousand nine hundred and ninety eight
Of calendars of eighteen ago.

Ms. Luce threw open her window
And it came the bursting of the light
She looked as far as she could
And everything was a feast for her eyes.

Green fields, nice-smelling flowers and old trees
Total contrast of the season of ice
What a pleasant time it is!
Such an advantage, this time of year.

She couldn't keep hold of the ninth
And she couldn't barely hang on so she cherished it
Politics isn't my cup of tea
But I agree a week is a long time.

Mostly, what larger than life
Was her singing,
"All was golden in the sky,"
Until now, it became her eyes.

She went out, clueless of the precipice.
She was dazzled with the light,
Her feet inching and inching to the edge,
And it happened, the fall.

Many a time and oft
Hath you been so real to me,
To anyone and yourself? Nay,
This passion will bear no colour.

For it were a burlesque
Apt to be render'd, for me to write
In this kind, by means
To finally acknowledge you.

If I had been a man,
I would ope my doublet, and
I might hath offer'd you this,
But where art thou?

Am I yourself, but as in sort
Of talking to you sometimes?
I have not seen you set me down
Even 'tis just an especial crony.

Tut I am not in your bosoms
But I know wherefore you do it.
Dwell not in the suburbs of London,
As you might see your shadow.

because you went too ideal
because you just want to heal
because of your self doubt
because of not going out
because you spent too much time on social media
because you know much more than wikipedia
because you get too excited
because you are anticipated
because you are not contented
but you want to be appreciated
because you're a witch sometimes
and you dont care oftentimes
because you are just too sad
that it erratically makes you mad
because your head cant stop the thoughts
the ideas and opinions that you fought
after all the things you missed, all the shots
you just want to remove that happy mascot