Alas, ahoy, 'ave a seat and are ya' thirsty?
Meet Bentley Barnham, a blonde haired, brown eyed bard from Brixby Barrow
sitting cross-legged on a creakin' and crackin' cathedra.
He was dabblin', dawdlin', fingers dancin' a dainty ditty on his dogwood lute,
eager for every eye-socket and earhole to eavesdrop an' eye-water over his elegantly executed epics.
Finally the fussin' and fartin' and flirtin' an' folly all drew to a final finito.
The goldenboy gleeman gave a glorious gulp of his Gunpowder Irish Gin.
Hallelujah, hooray, hurrah, hymns an' high-notes, harmony an' heartache, the whole house hootin' an' hollerin' as he halted for half-time.
Aye, Igor's Inn just might be the joint for jolly ol' folk like you.
This poem happened pretty spontaneously when I got the urge to write something about a medieval inn (though others said it had more of a pirate vibe) with a bard called Bentley Barnham. That lead me to writing everything else in alphabetical order. Little did I know this style of poem is called an abecedarian.