Poem 58 of 230: THE OLD BULL Walked along Fog Lane, Looked at the park, Stopped in the Old Bull And had a hark, While eating lunch, On how at dark, Many years before, My father's lark, There, was games of darts - I'd filled an arc. From http://blogs.myspace.com/walkaboutsverse (e-book) Or http://walkaboutsverse.sitegoz.com (e-scroll) (C) David Franks 2003