Time for the Little One
Thank you: for the years of bleary-eyed mornings, for
The decades of nights befores, for those good evening greetings
From the corner at the back of the bar where you were, as I walked to mine at the front
Through the door where the clock perched, telling time from the future.
Thank you: for a place to play Scrabble, for a bar that blossomed friends,
Where lovers met first, where drinkers went last to end the night started earlier
Right here, thank you, for all of this.
Thank you: for your listening --night after night like a saint to the faces whose elbows
Moulded the bar --like a star to the darkness in so many stories --like a cloud
That could quench or could thunder, that would float between country and country as new lives landed
Their language under the roof of your tiny, internationally gargantuan bar, thank you for all of this.
Thank you: for the hundreds of thousands of drinks you have served as the Big One
In the Little One, the Only One for 29 years, thank you for all the smiles, and the tears
And the joys and the shoulders and wonders and music and grumpy old passion
You brought here, Monday to Saturday, letting strangers inside, watching idiots slide
from their stools and sending them grandfatherly home from your Little One, where
The clock stayed fast in the future, protecting leavers from lateness.
The hands ran fast, pointing as 29 years appeared in the past.
The seconds ticked on, keeping time for you all along.
And it's right, that it says with its face pointed forwards, that it's finally time
to move on, so one last time finally, from all of us, thank you for all of this.
Thank you,Wil Lange,
For the countless thousands of hours and this huge part of your life you gave
To make the Little One such a huge part of ours.