Dear Dylan, have another drink with me
Before we slam the apple towns once more,
And wring from life all truth and sweetness free
As arm in arm we sing our bawdy lore.
No frown from heaven shakes our roaring form,
No smile from hell can cloud these peerless joys;
‘Neath starlit skies our tweeds hang passion-torn—
None rob the mirth from dreaming, drunken boys.
Dull lamps within the pub fend off the night,
And I find strength to tip a shining glass.
Around us, creeping shadows dim the light—
Oh, that this blithesome eve might ever last!
I raised my drink to toast the raging moon…
Then looked around—and found that you were gone.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.