It need some serious thinking,
How would I imagine the Poets' Pub?
A thinking spot, warm and welcome,
Where all with a love for poetry come.

Robert Burns is but whiskey neat,
Elizabeth Browning is honeyed mead,
Yeats would be the crystal gin,
And Tennyson could be golden cider.

Fontain, no doubt, is French champagne,
Pushkin the distilled, clear Russian vodka,
Wordsworth for caramel brandy,
Longfellow the aged molasses rum.

For those patrons, who do not drink,
We have wonderful options for you too,
Lord Byron for dark strong coffee,
Keats and Shelly for all bubbly soft drinks. 

But drink is not all that we serve,
For poets do come in all types and tastes,
If you want to munch while you think,
Our dips and canapes have you covered.

Named after familiar works,
You are sure to find some inspiration,
A few lighthearted discussions,
Or enjoy the flavours in silent thought.

There is always a place for you,
Even if there is no table or chair,
This is a place for all poets,
No Ego, No Judgement, Just Support.