Ode To A Nightingaol
Brain now dulled with throbbing pain
laid low with drugs and liquor I had found.
Stomach emptied in a putrid drain
till Police arrive and Leith-wards I am bound.
O for a pitcher full of ale
With bubbles racing to the brim
Furred tongue within an arid mouth,
and me within this squalid gaol.
Where youth grows old and life’s laid bare,
where ever thinking causes pain,
where time goes slower than a kiss
and grown men weep, in quiet despair.
Copyright © J.M.Brown 2015