2The lunar sea was stretched and thin.
The room's thin air was thick with smoke.
He drew, he spat, he dealt, he spoke.
He passed the mug of ale around;
It tasted sour, but was still sound.
They drank, they spat, they drew, they spoke.
Some tempers clashed, some dishes broke.
The cards were strewn across the floor,
The maid fled through the stable door.
He won the game, needless to say;
He won the fight, he won the day.
He bought more drinks, and more again,
There was much carousing then.
The owner tried to throw him out.
He came back in, the drunken lout.
He laughed uproariously and then,
He bought some more drinks for his men.
The red sun rose upon an inn,
A cleaning woman, old and thin.
The men were sleeping where they sat,
The drinks were spilled across the mat.
The woman pushed them all aside.
They woke and cursed. "Old witch," they cried.
She laughed and cleaned up the spilled ale.
She tossed the bread that had turned stale.
She dealt with them much better than
The owner had with fellow men.
They left in grumbling twos and threes,
They all dispersed among the trees.
She shook her head, returned inside,
Those poor men and their wounded pride.