Friend

A winter rain was rolling down my face

as we were walking homeward from the bar.

My drunkenness had left me short of grace

and stumbling I would not have made it far,

but for my friend on whom I could rely

to catch me if I slipped or tripped and fell.

For him, if needed, I would surely die,

and fight beside him to the throne of hell.

There never was a truer friend to me

than this who leads me now to hearth and home,

though senselessly I blather drunk decrees,

and nearly falling face down in the loam.

Eventually the threshold waits for we

comrades in kind and brothers endlessly.