Loving Nor Perfect Poem by Peter McLaughlin

In all human time
there is but one rhyme.
The Crowd They say the well
holds the lush hell
to the tale I tell
as the whiskey I sell. But, more on line
as we and under the pine
Oh! the bishops we mine
and the cups we wine. The swell holds the day
of the needs in the bay
of all who come to the hay
to hold forth I say. So, can we end
the miseries and the bend
as we cure the mend
to the graces we lend.