A TALE OF FOUR WHISKEES

Here is a tale, a drunken tale,

Across the border, the mountains grew taller,

The train rattled on under skies tasting dusk,

As light laid its bed, the night shed its fear,

The blanket of blackness thickened,

Wheels clad in iron, screamed to rest.

Pairs of legs in four were seen,

A beard and a jean, for all were the same,

Nomads were they, wanderers are they, and vagabonds aren’t they,

Standing onlookers smoked up in doubts,

Silence of the beards pounced upon curiosity,

“Who are you” asked the man in a coat,

“Where from are you” said another with a golden watch,

“Why are you here” cried the woman with a knitted bag,

“What are you” sang the child with the toy.

Silence roamed the place, a bit so dark,

Until old man Monty, cooed in recognition,

“Ahoy here, the beards they are,

A tinge of change, with the hair so long,

Boys weren’t you, the time when you left,

Thieving the factory of gumball Jacky,

Ages have gone, I’ve heard nothing but,

Shabby gay culprits, the whiskees aren’t you”

The winds kindled, Monty was done,

Leaves of mystery slithered, dusts of tension fluttered,

Then a hum, the beards as one,

A buzz it was, and scooted to a howl,

A howl wide known, commencing a song and a bop,

“Nay nay nay, the whiskees, we’re gay,

Upon any place, without a haze,

From folks we take, gifts we take,

Gifts they hand, that we purloin so swift,

Thank you too, for your nicest bequests”

“My coat is where” cried the man without one,

“The watch of gold is sure not sold”

“The bag I knit, is gone without a hint”

A roar from the child, the toy too dissolved.

As the train jangled away,

Old man Monty cooed yet again,

This time in awe,

“Blow was it and slow it wasn’t

They came, they took, and they went

Poof! They’ve gone, for all I knew

Shabby gay culprits, the whiskees weren’t they”