Priorities.

Today, I started writing myself a poem;
But when I saw the tears in her eyes,
I wrote one for her instead.

He got mad,
Said I was "out of touch with reality"
Said I was "completely disrespectful"

I refuse to be regretful
Because that poem
That poem made her smile;
And that is more valuable to me
Than any of his lectures on Russian history.
(I never did care for Rasputin)