ramblings and things 

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A seven litre night in ‘gladbach
Which cruised surprisingly along,
When Glasby stood bar centre
And burst forth in swelling song.
None of us knew old Pete could sing,
Knew he could spin a tale and sup,
Wax eloquently
When in his cups,
But standing there
All alone
Never so
On his own
He held that bar in his hand.
Even tone deaf me knew
That voice sang every word
Clear and every note so true.
He shook his head
As applause rang
In appreciation of
How he sang;
Back at the bar he grinned,
Refused an encore
And we each started on
A half litre more.
A nine litre night in ‘gladbach
That looked like it could be long.
The  free Pils kept flowing in
In thanks to Glasby for his song.

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