Sitting in an old, damp boozer

Brasses polished, leathers gleaming,

Wood, dark mahogany, glows.

In the dark daylight lamplight

Watching, now, the snow flakes tumble

Out of a heavy sky

Nature's green, and man's concrete grey

Gradually evolving into this whiter

Shade of pale.

Yes,  a pint of porter's your only man

Nobody dares to disturb

This chapel of rest

Except when one of the four

Drag themselves into the doorway,

Tipping their hat at the rule of law,

And drawing on their second

Sweet Afton of the day,

As the hangover slips away,

A pint of St James's Gate Guinness

And a large Jameson whiskey

If you please landlord

He remembers The Dead

The final paragraph of James

Augustine Aloysius Joyce's final

Story in Dubliners: snow falling

All over Ireland

All over the living and the dead.

He shivers slightly

Somebody walking over my grave,

He thinks,  as he sips his whiskey

And swallows the stout.