Doing Fine.

            Doing Fine.

  I fell upon the ground because of too much beer. I didn’t make a sound because there was no one to hear. I wept for pain, but felt ashamed for muddied was my attire. For bruised and tattered egos were the warning of the fire.
  I cannot stand upon his rock, for surely I should fail. If not for the the fear I may be mocked, but because I drank a we bit ale. 
Of Prost and cheers, I will clash my glass to sing a drinking song. Here’s to you from all my past, why can’t we get along.
  Even he holier than me could turn water into wine. So I hate to boost before the ghost, I don’t know if I am like most, but for me I’m doing just fine.
By GWRoggenbuck