The Barmaid

Step down into the parlour
deep window-sill and flowers
early afternoon,most are drunk
just as it should on Sunday.
She smiles bold,direct
holds her own each day.
"Guinness please",she pulls,
her arms suntanned and strong
she knows her worth,
draws the shamrock,smiles
and melts our hearts,
her heavy blouse says all.
Barmaid here for many years,
her maidenhood long since gone
and many times,the easy life
of take it as it comes
along the Marches counties,
a long tradition in her genes
we too know the rules . . . .
since on our mothers' knees.
Her hips are broad,so her mind
her beauty shames the hills
this is woman at her best
two kids,a dog and husband
proud and jealous,vigilant
sitting at the bar.