By Billy Bunks
The ancient and weathered cobblestones
Upon which I piss tell no tales,
From the tavern I’ve stumbled, to myself mumble
Unshaven and scented of ale,
On the wall sir, I lean, a drunkyard unseen,
Spare the lonely moon’s silvery glow
And what of me next? What curse Sir, which hex?
I admit I’ll be damned if I know.
Copyright © by the owner.