The Pugilist

The night was wild the weather mild, The moon was full the die was cast,
Of a come back to write, He was game to the last.
The claret dripped the gasps of breath the brain cells death,
Come back come back the voices cried, where's your guts where's your pride? Another round could go your way , forget the pain remember the pay,
you can rest another day.
What's today? What's the time? Who are you? CAN YOU SPARE A DIME?

Poetry by Pere - Copyright 2009 Xtralube Productions All rights reserved

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