Even though we’re in the last week of October, it’s still nice and warm outside. ‘A poem about Indian summer it is’, I thought to myself. Enter Dorothy Parker. The genius. Who used her wit to give Indian summer a whole new meaning. Nothing difficult or fancy. Just the art of not giving a damn. My kind of summer.
In youth, it was a way I had
To do my best to please,
And change, with every passing lad
To suit his theories.
But now I know the things I know,
And do the things I do;
And if you do not like me so,
To hell, my love, with you!