At the Inn,
I wrote a letter,
I didn’t have any rum,
Just some bread and butter.
At the Inn,
The room was nice and warm,
So were the fields.
There was an old sailor’s chest,
Put on display,
But the inn keeper said-“It’s only for show”.
The thought did cross my mind that once maybe it had a huge stash of treasure,
Or maybe a small pen and book.
At the Inn,
I found myself,
And went merrily towards my home.
Adios!
