Triggers an echoed whistle
a hazy dusk lit path afire
hunger a passion thirst a quest
a rusted edged signpost
''SCRAMBLED EGGS''
'food for the famished
drinks of leisure'
voices unheard followed me into the tavern
a light dimly overhung
from out of the mist
into the mustiness
moisture lined my weary eyes
a hand on my shoulder
friendly yet afraid
this seat has long been empty
would you please
my pleasure my lady
a glass of beer is thirty cents
a stein is four bits
said my hostess
and companion
treasures for pleasures
she whispered as she poured
the amber frothy lager
with an aim to overflow
as i turned in private
to smack my lips
upon return a gentle brush
of stashe and glass
she spoke of cinders
where once there was wood
and i of ashes from distant flames
on each rekindled sip
a barrier slightly aired
lips bespeak of grants taken
eyes weathered by storms
hearts begging for another helping of
scrambled eggs
by ritt