I see by my own eye and the dawning of the day, scotch has become the drink of men and fools.
So as to my coming, if even of late, i offer to you a reason to lift glass to lips, and toast to those whose lips are dry and voiceless.
The first is not of my composing, the second from the depts of my soul....
Enjoy....
IN FLANDERS FIELDS
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
A toast to fallen, the brave protectors of freedom!
While scotch is not my favorite drink, i raise the glass of my forefathers. Spill a bit for the parched departed, and remember them with warm heart, be it a little sad still......
My choice whiskey still stands unbonded, like the whiskey of my grandfathers. Nothing fancy,no pretty label, but just as fine ,just the same.
And now, a Christmas poem of my own composing...
Delivered from the fetters of light,
i come to pay the wage of sin.
I have lived a thousand lifetimes,
I have seen the end of days...
I have stood with the rightous on the heated plains..
I have seen the Devils hand.
I have seen the downfall of evil...
I have seen it rise again..
I have slain the wrong doers...
i have slain the innocent as well...
I say to you this day, and all the days that last..
Look to the sky for my coming.
With fire and stone i come....
I stand before you know, beaten down and defeated,
My head in my hands.....defiant no more...........
UNTIL NEXT TIME.
A MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL------Cartophilis