Drunk, Drunk Drunk Drunk Drun k drunk drunk

Bully Hill’s Sweet Walter is a little like drinking pure sugar until the very end when it sours up nicely.  If you drink it, the shape of your mouth will be OOooooo-Oup!  We bought it because the green is a shade I don’t have for the bottle tree yet.

I have moved on to Blue Nun.  At this point, it seems fine.

And we had a fire.

And the orange cat came by.

I decided to have a confession.  To name which of you was the one who should come over to fill my bed.  But I couldn’t decide.  And so I named all of you.  And I decided that made me whitmanesque.  And so yes, I said, yes, I said yes.

And that’s how you know there’s not yet enough poetry in the world, that you had to come here, to me, who is not a poet, to rhyme Walt with Molly.

Every day I am so grateful and so lucky to have you, every day.  I don’t tell you though I should.  But I love you.  Each and every one of you.  Yes, you Bridgett, Lauredhel, Casey, Sam.  All of you.  I love you like the pillows in my warm bed.

And, I for one, believe the world can only be improved by drunken confessions of love and so I stand before you drunk and in love.

Edited to add: I love the fiddle.

Edited again to add: SEe?

Even you.

I love you.

Ha, yes, I say, yes.