I walked into an ancient, English pub
As a rosy faced maid knelt down to scrub
Where sailors sat around mahogany tables
Drinking brownish ale, and telling Saxon fables;
The scent of mignonette mixed with thyme
Descended from holly and mistletoe.
As I reclined in a booth weaving my rhyme,
I dreamt of a square where a stream did flow.
And in the beer scented thick of the drunken din,
I saw a princess with flowers in her hand
Kneel beside a shrine, as sunlight graced the land.
And lo and behold, that same sun shone in
And touched all the sailors’ heads and hearts
With Mary’s love and Cupid’s darts.

John Lars Zwerenz