A Poem

but they've left us a bit of music
and a spiked show in the corner,
a jigger of scotch, a blue necktie,
a small volume of poems by rimbuaud,
a horse running as if the devil
were twisting his tail
over bluegrass and screaming,
and then,
love again
like a streetcar turning the corner
on time,
the city waiting,
the wine and the flowers,
the water walking across the lake
and summer and winter
and summer and summer
and winter again

--from the poem, " If We Take"
Written by Charles Bukowski