I wandered lonely as a Tramp
Who floats on high from sniffing glue,
When all at once I saw a camp
A crate of golden Special Brew;
Beneath the trees there all alone,
Ten thousand cans my very own.
I danced beside the beers, but they
Outdid my dancing in beauty:-
A drunkard could not but be gay
In such triumphant company:
I drank - and drank - but little thought
What curse to me the beer had brought:
For oft when off my bench I fall
In vacant or in pensive mood.
I wonder how I drank them all
I wish that they could be renewed,
And then my soul cries winter blues
To crave yet hate those Special Brews.














Comments
would you please visit my new poem? > [link]
--
"Molly Leigh, Molly Leigh, you can't catch me,"
When something's fair, it doesn't have to be realistic. Fair and realistic might be synonyms in the best of all possible words, but if so, this was not that world.
Stephen King - from Misery
--
Clever monkeys with technology
Barely out of the caves and the trees
It's all vanity...
I still giggle when I re-read S3 L2. Perhaps I should've submitted this a few weeks ago.
To crave yet hate those Special Brews."
how great lines they are, i felt like i found myself there,
And thanks for the fave too.
--
Clever monkeys with technology
Barely out of the caves and the trees
It's all vanity...
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