He staggered to the bench
His voice carrying despite
The sounds of wagons
Horses
Traffic back and forth

"People tell me I can't write songs!"

Nobody looked at him,
Quick to ignore.
Inebriated degenerate,
They thought, slowly fled.

"I'm screaming my song right now!"

And only the children
Were paying attention.

Penned by my hand on the 6th of Phaestian, in the year 639 AF.