Poetry Archives

“For good old Master Hilverdink, a toast!”
Clamoured a youth with tassels on his boots.
“Bring out your oldest brandy for a boast,
From that small barrel in the very roots
Of your deep cellar, man.  Why here is Max!
Ho!  Welcome, Max, you’re scarcely here in time.
We want to drink to old Jan’s luck, and smoke
His best tobacco for a grand climax.
Here, Jan, a paper, fragrant as crushed thyme,
We’ll have the best to wish you luck, or may we choke!”