the long day it draws to a
close
with dried sweat and
aching toes
and as he reaches for a
deserving beer
out rolls from his eye a
fresh frothy tear
it falls with a plop
and not a sound
like a sad feather plummeting to the ground
and as he looks at this
drop never a puddle
he grabs his ale in a warm
loving cuddle
he raises it and fixes it
with a stare
like a thirsty 3-year-old
without a care
it gazes back, and maybe
even grins
smiles; hey you, we could've been twins
for you’re like me, and
I’m like you
we’ve been through worse;
how do you do?
ram
cobain
