When heavy hangs the soul - if soul there be
in such a state of abject loneliness -
and all Creation's steeped in misery
and all bad influences join life's mess,
and melancholy blackens; hope recedes;
faith's gone; and love and charity lie hid;
and nothing seems good for the mind to heed,
no action springs to mind to lift the lid
that sits, black monster, on the love of truth,
of goodness, beauty - all this gone from hence;
then - wine, that warms the heart of man, must serve;
and hops, that give of God's benevolence:
and at the measured glass's end - God bless -
the possibility of happiness...
Dear Michael, Thank you for your kind dedication. Please look at yours from me: 'The Rich and the Pour' It took a little 'extra' reasearch for this one. Al=coholiquement votre, R.
Just passed through Napa and did my usual tasting....ah, heaven! And I loved your poem, too. Good work. Raynette
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Love the rhythm, it seems to be so effortless. In vino veritas the doc exclaimed to all no poison can be drunk from these grape steins so let us celebrate with Bacchus in the Fall partake of hops and well-aged, hearty wines. H