Many a pint,

many a laugh,

many a smile,

and many the tears

over the months

and over the years.

Where now, though’s, love,

amongst these not-so-young lads,

and not-so-young girls?

Distant now,

perhaps a year ago?

the memory persists,

it’s vivid still,

the time yon mon,

distraught and close to tears,

burst through those welcoming

double doors,

sought shelter from the storm,

of abuse from empty-heads,

one, a young lass,

presumably thinking herself

one-of-the-lads.

Pakistani-bashing once, was quite a thing,

Still is, it’s heard in Parliament,

for some, gay-bashing’s stil on trend,

…and folk arriving in small boats,

they help keep the fascist’s hate afloat.

Instinctively, my friend,

threw both her arms

around his neck,

and gruffily, I held him tight,

hoping I didn’t give him a fright!

Now a caring lady, his best mate,

tells us that he’s been found at home,

seems that yon mon was tired of life.

The last time that I saw the lad alive,

was when we gave him love, not hate.