I look out my window, I see him sitting there,
A beer mug in his hand, surroundings austere.
The distant music fading in and out,
I follow his rhythmic movements.
He’s head banging in tandem to his tapping foot jerks.
Even at this distance the moisture rolls down the mug
And moisture shines on his sweating brow
His hair soft, refreshing like the cold beer,
Occasional smiles at change of songs so dear!
Every weekend as a ritual I sit by my window
To watch him come, enjoy beer – music, and go.
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