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.
