Stopping By The Pub On A Frosty Evening Poem by Robert Eckstein

What pub this is I think I know.
The owner is a bloke named Joe.
My friends must think it rather queer
That I drink wine instead of beer.

I used to have my pint of ale
And eat a ploughman's lunch, it's true,
But now, I've got a little class
And have chablis and mussel stew.

My Austin sits in the car park
And cares not that it's cold and dark;
With coachwork dented, mudguards loose,
It knows not that I'm on the juice.

The pub is softly lit, and warm.
Outside, there is a coming storm,
But to my car I have to go
Before the road is white with snow.