A Toast to Anacreon

Come, pour me a glass of that wonderful stuff
that once is begun is not ever enough;
and under whose influence we learn to bluff,
imagining ourselves immortal and tough.

Come, pour me a round of ambrosial brew
and join me in raising a glassful or two.
For soon comes the morning, when payment comes due,
with bitter bright sunlight that pierces the dew.

Come, pour me a quick one as I seek the door!
My limit’s approaching, I can stand no more.
Yes, the pounding of my blood is building to roar;
soon, my only comfort will be the cold floor.

Come, pour me a drink! One is never enough!
While the wine is flowing, it’s wonderful stuff
that gives to us courage, all bluster and rough,
to watch as our dreams turn to mere dust and fluff.

11 APR 2014

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