Water reforms, although we slice it with our swords;
Sorrow returns, although we drown it with our wine.
('A Toast to Uncle Yun' by Li Bai, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch)
Keywords/Tags: water, wine, sorrow, swords, Li Bai, Uncle Yun
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He rode his cancer to the last stop~
Sadden, as tads of gloom found his crop~
Still he skipped like toads to end on top~
The frogs inward taking their last hop~
With pails of treatment, prayer, and mop~
One last ditched effort came to a drop~
Pardon that dark day, upon raindrop~
As the frogs croaking couldnt be lop~
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Ty, July. I'm choked for words to toast. And when my earth departs in the wake of mercury rising, and ashes become ashes and I get smoked. It would certainly be poetic to use the pass on being born again.
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let's not toast a drink, to a poet ink, that cries stink, after all, whats there to think, let the con and hoodwink, fall and sink, wither away and shrink, from my little kink, to ... now a parting wink, I'm sorry I wasn't in sync
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A toast to life and all it may bring
A toast to joy for it makes you sing
A toast to friend they make life swell
I like to sing
I just don't sing well
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