Drinking At The Mitre Poem by Richard George
Drinking At The Mitre
Rating: ★4.5
Misery was meek
thirteen on a lead round Cambridge,
Prodigy City he
would never frolic in, summer-gold;
sad old man
with a pint of acid cider
half empty, stealing snake-eyes
at the girls who will run the world.
Monday, August 1, 2005
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4/19/2024 10:23:52 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Interesting. I've had a drink in the Mitre, Cambridge a number of times.