ou listened to your snobbish friends
And insults they ascribed―
"The Bottom of the Barrel"
Was the way I was described.
It was their hope that we would part
(I know it wasn't mine),
Yet I resisted bitter thoughts
While sinking through their brine.
I'll wait for you, cucumber cool,
Fermenting in this drum―
Perhaps someday you'll find me here
Once you've skimmed through the scum.