princess17

Night has wrapped around the city Like a favorite old quilt. It pours into our garden And trickles down the street And wafts into my room In the form of cherry pipe smoke. With Hume and Kant sent to bed, The flat shakes itself free Of being a flat in Oxford. We go through the motions of dinner And when we're filled with kebabs and chips It's time for us to be a family. Someone suggests we take our cards And go for drinks at the Victoria. There is a favorite table in the back Because it's big enough for all of us And our drinks: Four or five or six of Guinness (that horrid, thick, black brew) One of Bailey's (that's Doug's s