In Which A Tradition Is Born

The Fox and Fiddle, here on St. John Street --
I think that it's a street, or is it Ave? --
Just weeks ago was where we chose to meet
Doug Groves and quaff some Guinness. Now I have
A little energy and time before
Collapsing, travel-worn, into my bed
And I can think of nothing I'd like more
Than one quick, quiet pint. The walking dead
Would smile, restored, and leave off eating brains
Were such on offer to them! Now I sit
Exhausted, happy, as the tension drains
Right from me. Soon I'll shuffle off and quit
This mortal coil -- just for tonight -- and rest.
Tomorrow starts up all that I love best!