Edinburgh Pub

Every great city and forgotten hamlet have one.
A shrine to conviviality, fashioned for friendships
both old and new. A sanctuary to ward off the chill
of wind and worry. A haven for the warmth of friendly
conversation and laughter.

Those who gather here lay down their tools of labor
and heft glasses of heady stout. Toasts offered to a freen now
gone, and to the future prosperity of this land of brave hearts.
Fables of ancient glory replace the steady rumble of modern
machines, and slow the relentless march towards progress.

This night is for rest, there being time enough for work
tomorrow. Lifelong chums and newly found pals share
equally in the telling of tales. There are no strangers here.
No one drinks alone on this blustery evening. The cold
winter can wait, these hours are saved for warm blessings
and fond memories.

On a lucky night, a piper stops in, and a ruckus sound
fills the air. Loud hoorahs echo in the joyful room,
and in a moment’s pause, one can hear the distant roll
of highland drums. A green-eyed lassie calls for a reel,
and glides lightly across the floor.

Men cheer and forget all burdens, if only for a night.
Rejoicing in the love of their wives and children, those
gentle gifts they have been given. And in this ancient
land of moors and lochs, of kings and myths, they are
unwillingly thrust into an age of hurry, an age of now.

But for this night, these lads and lassies will not borrow
trouble, nor will they carry the weight of sorrow.
For this is a time for mirth, an evening for friends
to gather and celebrate life. Such is a pub in Scotland

By: David Davis

David R. Davis is a poet and fiction writer. He has published three novels, a book of short stories, and two poetry chapbooks. His poetry and short stories have been published by Running Wild Press, The Arizona State Poetry Society, and The Pointed Circle. He writes about the human condition with the goal of nudging his readers to think and feel.