“It takes only one drink to get me drunk.
The trouble is, I can’t remember if it’s the thirteenth or the fourteenth.”

Still I would want to be someone who’d answer to me:
Someone who sees like a child, gives like a saint,
feels like an angel — never mind the broken wings,
and speaks like a picture, cries like the rain, shines like a star,
as long as the fire remains.

Were countless hours of pity like a blanket
that covered up the daylight from your soul?