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Poetry from within


An Inn keeper stood at the golden gates,

His head was bent and low,

He meekly asked the man of fate

The way that he should go.

What have you done St Peter said

to seek admission here?

"I kept an hotel down below

for many and many a year"

St Peter opened wide the gate

and quietly pressed the bell

Come right inside and choose your harp

You’ve had your share of hell

My Dad - Mr John Macdonald a hotelier for many and many a year.

Mac Macdonald

FootNote: I was recently given some personal effects which my mother has been keeping since my Dad died in 1979. Among them was a torn menu which had this poem written on the back in his hand. Whilst this poem is widely used for many other trades and reworded over the years I believe that this is one of the earlier versions.