Its an early quiet in the harbour bar
worn wood and weathered men
with shoulders hunched around a glass
thats slowly drunk with time to pass
...
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Barney, nice. Reminds me of a few lines from a Polka tune. In Heaven there is no beer, that's why we drink it here, and when we're gone from here, all our friends will be drinking all our beer. Another 10.
What a lovely fishmans tale. Great visuals within your words...nicely done Annette