A cold indifference
fills your voice.
As is there was no more.
I wonder, have you ever
held a hand so tight as
though you cannot let go?
I lament the passing
of this honesty and decency.
And if I am asked one day,
how it was?
I will leave nothing out.
A Wandering Poet 
I think you owe it, due to the title of the poem, to make a transition into drinking whiskey with this poem.
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