A solitary saxaphone
drifts in lonesome sound
as the ol' guy staggers
out an' aroun' an' aroun'.
Every night each glass he'd sup
between two hands like a lovin' cup.
Weaving to and fro he sees
in shadows of the ol' boardwalk,
a sight to send him to his knees
which slowly began to talk.
"Every night each glass you sup
between two hands like 'our' lovin' cup"
T'was Jesse from three years ago
in her laced white bridal gown,
she looked at him with furrowed brow
face stained from tears falling down.
"Tis true we drank from our lovin' cup
but now the glass you must give up"
He just sighed and stood up straight
knowin' Jesse'd wisely reckoned,
that he was playing around with time
and his was not yet ~ beckoned.
(c) ZYDHA HART 2007
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