The Village Inn Poem by Andrew Lees

There is an Inn in, the village square,
Known to us all, as the Dog and Bear,
The locals, over a tankard of ale
Will tell of many a village tale.
Take old Ned Jones who sits alone
Who hardly speaks, except to moan
The price of beer he says is bad.
T’was much cheaper, when he was a lad.
Then theirs old Harry Larkin, a poacher he be
Many the pheasant, he’s had from me.
At the dead of night, and quite unawares
He’ll go and look at all his snares
Many a rabbit has met it’s fate
By taking a bite at the poachers bait.
Here’s big Jake, the village cop
When seen by the gypsies, they never stop.
Many a farmer lost his eggs
Whilst his wife was buying pegs.
Then there’s old beady eyes, who lives in the Dell
He’s been spreading manure
You can tell by the smell.
Grumpy the landlord been here for fifty years,
Pulling and selling all kind of beers.
He stands no nonsense and I know for sure,
Many a drunk, has been thrown out the door.
Now we come to Mary Randall,
She knows all the village scandal
She ran off with the chimney sweep,
Now the gossips love to say
A little bairn is on the way.
I haven’t mentioned wizened Bill Hunt
Who wore his trousers back to front
He said a lesson he was always taught,
Handy if you’re taken short.
So you see, this village comprises,
People of all shapes and sizes.
All swear by the ghost, that haunts the tower
Seen at every midnight hour,
That accounted for poor old Alf,
Who fell in the pond and drowned himself,
The village cop thought it queer
And blamed it on the landlords beer.
You hear all these tales, in the village inn
Tales the locals love to spin.
So my friends, if you’ve got the fare
Take a trip to the Dog and Bear.