Gruff and subdue, I walk into
The boisterous Poets' Pub
So riddled up with drunken coo
A proud and sprightly club

Heels and wood-stumps toe the ground
With swift and giddy jive
As blurry limericks bounce around
The tavern bursts alive

I see the dark extremities
Contain the usual crowd
Hoisting their jugs with jubilee
Their heads, blown through the clouds

Stone-eyed patrons, spin and prance
Drenched in their powdered wigs
Rough threading to an Irish dance
Whirling a bruttish jig

Higginsworth, sits at the bar
Loud belching poetry
With lines so laden up with tar
A lady, on his knee

A jittery gent, stands far aloof
Just twiddling at the fingers
His beady eyes, scan towards the roof
Who knows where his mind lingers?..

Ben Rummy grabs and frisks a Mrs.
And starts a bar-room fight
But they don't tangle with their fists
They tangle with their writes

A drafty beer, sits in the cup
Of prideful, lofty poets
Devote to show the others up
And this is how they show it

I take a stool, right at the bar
With jug filled to the brim
And with a chug, I quaff the jar
For I'm just one of them