Your Faithful Friend

Sometimes, I say, it's good to drink.
It clouds the brain so you won't think
so deeply or with too much care.
Inebriation acts like prayer!
It mollifies and melts your fears,
and turns to joy your tortured tears.

When alcohol's your faithful friend,
the wife who drove you round the bend
will morph, and be a thing with wings,
a tiny fly or bird who sings.
Whose buzz won't bother you at all.
Whose caw will ring like song thrush call.

Sometimes, when on your third or forth
the wind may blow from south or north.
No matter that the storm clouds meet
above your head, the wine tastes sweet!
And Life you'll deem a dazzling dream,
a perfect Paradise will seem.