A Day With Opera Mini

"Little Fly,
Thy summer ’s play
My thoughtless hand Has brush’d away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance,
And
Drink,& sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength & breath,
And the want Of thought is death;
Then am I A happy fly,
If I live Or if I die."

Man, do i love this poem. . .anyone who is serious about writing, no matter what type, should read classics like this.

as i manuvoured the numerical steering wheel of my rusty V360 towards her, she stood elegantly petite, her slim body draped carefully and beautifully with a red dress that shone dramaticly bright under the aruara of my 360's shabby lights. i was going on a date with young Ms Opera Mini. she didn't seem to notice the patheticly cracked shell of the vehicle that'd transport her, 'its whats from the inside that counts' she said. for the first time i was going to travel beyond the confines of my home town Wap Town, into the wealth of Web City. first, she cordialy invited me to her home Opera.Com, hesitant, i considered the 'hearse speed' of my V360. she assured me otherwise. i pushed the scrappy ignition. waiting. thinking. adrenaline pumped... i opened my sweaty eyelids.. 'We're there already?!,' i exclaimed, shocked. it was amazing; her MyOpera home in Web City was neatly displayed in front of my 176 ×220 windscreen. she smiled warmly explaining how she tweekd my car beforehand. we visited many Web friends.