Red Stag

A bottle of Red Stag and your memory
That's all I have today.
No Easter meals, no table side giggles
since you went away.
I do not crave the alcohol
that passes on my lips
There is no spirit that compares
To kissing your sweet lips.
The sweet aroma of my drink
Is nothing to your scent
But I'll swallow burning medicine
And dream of days before you went.