I was sorry for mocking you about you're love of the LA, so I wroted you a poem all by myself!
Oh to be in LA,
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in LA,
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the Venti Latte's and the Iced Mocha's
Round the Starbucks are in season,
While the carhorns beep on the city streets
In LA- now!
And after April, when May follows,
And the white smog builds, and everyone swallows!
Hark, where my blinged Humvee in the Road,
Leaks to the world my ipods random playlist,
Fires and earthquakes - at the spent day's bridge -
That's the wise busker; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the streets look rough with hoary slew,
All will be gay when the noontide wakes anew
The happiest place on earth, a child's dower -
Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!