Will you drink freely my friend,
of the spirits, wine, or the ale?
Until you fall upon measured,
large drink stomach bloated.
Senseless in drunkard’s bowl,
like the dead beached whale.
Will you be in cups late into the night?
Thirsty traveller lingers at such a sight.
How soon, you thirst again, your ever bitter dry,
for aching head, it is hard, to gaze up into the sky.
There is a cup, of pure water, a cup of pure life,
all who drink from this cup, will thirst not, in afterlife.
Thus we chose
waters of intoxication.
In this world or
waters of life in the next.
One kills body soul
one prepares for resurrection.
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem