As I sit and gaze at the splendid moon,
I mourn at how wine is no longer a boon.
I shift my gaze to the house down the lane
and listen wistfully to the sounds of merrymaking
For while tea is indeed invigorating
it is nothing compared to how wine makes you sing
Between friends and faith I have to decide
Is there a way to make both coincide?

Yet again I bask in the moon’s glow
This time without wine being tea’s foe
For while I am still without friends
I have wine cupped in my hands
To drink in secret is the solution
For then I will be in absolution

Written in perspective of a monk in the Tang dynasty who is torn between alcohol and his faith.