In the quiet hush of the evening’s glow,
The glass stands tall, a friend to know.
With every sip, a story unfolds,
A tale of warmth, of secrets told.

The amber liquid, a gentle stream,
Flows through moments like a dream.
It whispers softly, eases the mind,
In its depths, comfort we find.

Yet in the shadows, a hint of pain,
A fleeting sorrow, like gentle rain.
For in each drop, a memory lies,
Of laughter lost, of silent cries.

As the night deepens, the glass runs dry,
We face the dawn, with a heavy sigh.
But in its embrace, for a fleeting while,
We find solace, and perhaps a smile.