Cornwallis Inn,
Gothic Stone With
Marble Floor Ways,

A Small Lounge Area
And A Bar Alongside.

Road Weary
And Thirsty
We Belly
Up To The Trough.

A Drunkin' Patron
Pulls Up A Stool,

Too Drunk To Even
Pay Attention To The ****** Gestures
Or Our Body Language.

He Overstays
Any Sort Of Welcome
That I Would Have Given Him.

I Told
The Barkeep
I Was From Town
But Haven't Been Here
For Decades,

That When I Had Left,
The Town Wasn't More
Than A Ghost Town
In The Making.

That The Land
Of ***** And Orchards
Would Dwarf The Town,

Making It Only
A Spot On The Map,
Like The Stain
Left By A Barfly
On A Hot, Hot Day.