As I walked out to the Morning Star
The Cathedral cast its mark,
Its lowering shadows enveloped the pub
And the sky grew unusually dark.
The Church, the beacon, was not yet lit
Too soon to call it night,
I was stood at the bar of the Morning Star, not chatting to the barman. It’s one of the great things about popping into a local pub for a swift one. Sometimes you chat with the barman, sometimes with whoever …