In the Wheatsheaf recently refitted

tiny ceiling lights shone down

in celebration of the empty space

we two sat in the window seats

leather bound with guinness and scotch

 

in the afternoon of the day

where histories of the hop were planted

coaches and horses passed away

we two sat and talked and spun

in truth a sharing of thoughts as one.

 

The ceiling lights became intense

at November's impending dusk

where moments piled up their extra sense

supported by a common bond

leather bound with guinness and scotch