Whiskey Friend

A man walked beside With a paper of news “Your pardon I beg, I am a traveling Jew And I know it’s silly of me And I know I shouldn't ask But that drink you carry with you Reminds me of a flask And could you be so timely To soothe a tattered man And would you be so kindly To place your whiskey in my hand?” This man, he knew not I His eyes I could not trace His breath, his voice, I did not know A stranger of the face “Sir,” said I “how dare you be A man of gut and soul Your business I do not know of And yet you speak so bold I would not mind if you drank from mine For it is strong and, no, not cold But could you be so thoughtful true To not let me drink alone?” This man he smile, of time, of wear “Of course.” He said to me And drank he and I, so still we sat By the corner of the house where drunk souls meet