When I was a little year seven we had to write poems in different styles and basically it was a load of sh*t. So here's my counting poem, revised. Please review.

Meaningless Numbers.

There's a million upon million of grass blades

All in that one field

Each fluffy cloud, high in that sky of infinity

Contains billions of raindrops, just waiting to fall

And each animal, closer to home has four legs each

And a hundred of those, means four hundred legs...

And a few thousand midges, coming for my blood

With a few frogs, croaking in the water hole.

Every comes in numbers, there's atoms, there's time

There's distance and there's mass and weight

So why bother counting, the meaningless ones

When there's only so much of life left to us?

AN: by the last line I meant if you insist on counting things and ordering things too much then you only have a little time. :) Please review. Please.