I've Found At Last My Tipple By The Fire
 

I can’t deny, this late an hour
Too much ice, the vermouth sour
That I’d make last an old fashioned glass
And one more sip with four red flowers.

For though the fires burn quite cool
Where the masses palettes rule
The lone decanters owed no banter
Once eau de vie has found its fool.

But let them sing, two hapless glasses
As across the bar each passes
There two will know what spirits sew
When resting from distillers’ dances.

And if they ask, then I’ve retired
Hung my coat and old desire
With my nose in four red roses
On the floor beside the fire.