The Barkeep

One night as he served grog,
The barkeep met a bard,
An old bloke somewhat scarred,
Who in self-induced fog,
Bespoke of a life hard

"Before I was ill-fated,
I held one truth most dear,
To hold hope through all fear!
Thought that if I waited,
Great things, they would appear"

And as he sipped his stout,
The barkeep helped his crew,
With beer spills as they grew,
Though kept a good ear out,
To give the drunk his due

"Yet as my life wore on,
Those dreams that I could see,
They never came to be!
Hope seems like such a con,
Fool's gold if you ask me"

With that he drained his cup,
The barkeep did not pry,
Just wiped the counter dry,
'Till at last, glancing up,
Looked stupor in the eye

"It sounds like quite a jam,
So I'll suspend my tact,
And tell you a plain fact,
That hope's not worth a damn,
Without the will to act"