Poetry Is Not The Thing Said, But

Oh When I Was In Love With You, Then I Was Clean And Brave, And Miles Around The Wonder Grew How Well Did I Behave. And Now The Fancy Passes By, And Nothing Will Remain, And Miles Around They'll Say That I Am Quite Myself Again.

Oh I Have Been To Ludlow Fair, And Left My Necktie God Knows Where. And Carried Half Way Home, Or Near, Pints And Quarts Of Ludlow Beer.

Now, Of My Threescore Years And Ten, Twenty Will Not Come Again.

Ale, Man, Ale's The Stuff To Drink For Fellows Whom It Hurts To Think.

There, By The Starlit Fences The Wanderer Halts And Hears My Soul That Lingers Sighing About The Glimmering Weirs.