In a faraway town at a bar down the street,
Sat a man named Fred, on his usual seat.
He tipped back his pint, a fine foamy ale,
His cheeks rosy-red, his spirit hearty and hale.
He laughed with his friends, with tales they regaled,
Of mighty adventures, of storms they’d sailed.
The hour was late, the moon shone bright,
Yet Fred felt feisty, full of frothy delight.
“Oh no, not yet, I won’t go home,
I’m not ready to leave this joyful dome.
The world outside can wait its turn,
I’ve beer in my belly, and cheer to burn.”
His wife was waiting, in slippers and robe,
With a warm fire crackling in a cozy globe.
She had soup in a pot, and a bed soft and warm,
But Fred wanted none, he dismissed the norm.
“I shan’t head home, won’t leave this spot,
I enjoy it here, I like it a lot!
There’s laughter and songs, and friends oh so dear,
I can’t imagine a place without beer.”
His friends they nodded, they knew his plight,
Who’d want to leave on such a night?
Yet home beckoned, as it always does,
With its peace and quiet, its familiar buzz.
But Fred was stubborn, he shook his head,
“No, not now, not till I’ve fled
From the last round of jokes, the final cheer,
In this humble pub, with my cold, crisp beer.”
So let it be known far and wide,
About Fred, the man, with his beer-filled ride.… Read the rest
