An itinerant peddler startles me to wake at noon
Debt on debt of the brew vendors suddenly stirs my mind
How much more can I bear the grievous toils of this hood?
Surprise, dismay, alarm or pity deep and profound
Would show in their looks, with acquaintances of old,
Should we by chance meet again,
in vain friend of old Would sigh, cry and in pain fold,
Their once enviable peer in this deplored state to find steeped in strain;
Do not ask in ridicule, sarcasm, proverbs, and riddles with whom I’ve lost favor
Instead, alleviate my devastating sorrow with bottle on bottle of scented liquor!