BY A SMALL HILL

A young lady impedes me from my homeward way
Over a tiny junction, the night is descending swiftly.
A restless cricket chirp; in the long grass, a pair of mice play
My heart is still wrapped in misery!
She insists on supporting me in my drunken stupor
But I’m rather ashamed of my sorry state;
My pate is dizzy, and breath leaks with liquor
Tonight, what sort of hour is this that I find a suitable bed mate?

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