Back at the tavern

Because I might face hardship ahead, should I stop?

my loved ones cannot come always alongside me;

forget the tavern, not even to the corner shop,

but the tavern doesn’t yet know how to be empty.

The winemakers distil the wine, slow drop by drop,

each glass is filled to its level by the saki

and each patron comes to claim his usual spot -

an empty tavern seat’s still a rarity.

I may dither all day whether to go or not -

the spaces shrink or expand as the need may be;

the tables are few, but the benches find space, allot

each one a place, squeeze them in or seat them easy.

The saki too serves the same level, the same wine

whether I drink with strangers; or friends of mine.