Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler
well, hallo, my good friend Microsoft! hallo there my old chum!
fancy seeing you at this pub, how far have you come?
where have you wandered these days? worn are the soles of your shoes!
your cane is splintered and cracked, surely you must have some news!
'indeed, i do have some stories to tell, old boy. come, let's have a drink
'and sit down by the that fire so that i may have a moment to think.'
'i have been to the front lines of battle where warriors wave pens, not swords
'where letters are the ammunition and the weapons are their words'
'alas, i was struck several times. not once, not twice, but thrice for merely being a correspondent on the field
'i wanted nothing to do with this war, in fact, no weapon did i wield
'now i find myself wounded and weary, resting with a mouthful of stout
'i would be just as content in this Pub; figuring these people out.
'poets have no love for each other. even less love for themselves
'they don't realize their names will be collecting dust on old library shelves
'if they are published, and that's no guarantee.
'but nobody wants to listen to me.'
and the old man inhaled deeply, savouring his tar-black beer.
he looked to the ground,
then all around
his eyes met with each patron's in the bar
he felt a twinge in his every scar
'we must go, ' said he suddenly, 'the murderers have come here.'
Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler's Other Poems
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