THE DRUNK
The tallest mountain, standing bold and high,
Its story whispered to the sky,
Concealed from the world below,
Where streams of secrets softly flow.
The tranquil statue, bathed in light,
Holds both joy and silent plight,
While woods enchant with varied grace,
Yet dangers hide in their embrace.
A man of will, esteemed and true,
In society’s eyes, admired anew,
Yet as he leaves his world of gold,
To the bar’s quiet, stories untold.
There, he sits in solitude,
Nursing tonic, drowning in mood,
Till the mountain, burdened deep,
Collapses in a landslide’s sweep.
And the river, with its sorrow,
Breaks its banks, no hope to borrow,
In nature’s dance, a somber show,
The hidden truths begin to flow.
