Friendship thrives beneath the harvest moon!
Where no one does not love sweet wine!
They pity those who are not concerned
To revel for revelry's sake, and laugh at those
Who sit and think and thumb their nose
And open and shut and open big books
And sneeze at the doing of it.
For no one does not love what he loves to do
But that he sits and reads because he feels he should
At the right time but drinks at the wrong moment,
And though his parts disband some, his muscles unclasp their fellows,
Though he forgets his arms, legs, and curious shoulders:
He does not lose himself, He does not love wine,
He sees a moon, and sees it laugh, and does not know
That it laughs at him, or, if he does, does not know,
It laughs at all like him, not him alone.
So please, in the meantime,
Drink and Dance!
Without a thought of these words
And that man.
He's nowhere to be found
And the moon, unseen,
Still cackles.
