With Constant Drinking
Fresh and Fair

I am plain and far from famous
call me what you will
Let others wear the smart coiffure,
I have cups to fill--
cups of tea for lonesome ladies
lost in book and chair,
cups of milk for nightmared children
clinging to the stair,
a cup of claret for the poet
stalled midway to verse,
communion wine for alcohlics
who'd like both more--and worse;
a cup of faith for every caught one
knee-deep in swirls of doubt--
a cup to raise his spirits
and a tug to pull him out;
cups of kisses for the children
and three of joy for you  .  .  .
Dear neighbor, I've run out of cups
May I borrow one or two?

--Abraham Crowley

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