The meeting

There was a pub,
At the end of town,
Where gathered many,
A wayward clown,
The East most point,
Of town it was,
And so when I had,
Come across,
The dusty building,
I gave a pause.
The dingy lighting,
The musty smell,
Its very purpose,
Was to repel,
It didn't fool me,
For a second,
In hindsight at least,
This I reckoned,
A den of vice,
It seemed to be,
Yet it seemed,
Known to me,
The bartender,
With glint in eye,
(He seemed a rather,
Jovial guy),
Asked if I would,
Like a drink,
And I asked him,
For a glass of milk,
He looked upon me,
With consternation,
Yet there was,
No altercation
And soon I sipped,
Upon my milk,
All alone,
In my ilk,
And just when I,
Was growing weary,
She came to me,
This damsel cheery,
On her finger,
A compass she wore,
Her glass was empty,
She wanted more,
Yet 'twas not ale,
That she was drinking,
She was no lass,
With spirits,
Asinking,
Her voice was as,
Smooth as silk,
As she ordered,
"Another milk",
I felt shy,
(I don't know why),
To strike,
A conversation,
But something told me,
Perhaps her smile,
I was under,
Her observation,
"You travel East?"
She said at last,
I felt nostalgic,
Of my past,
"Yes", said I,
With cheeks so rouge,
Feeling like,
Such a stooge,
"Good", said she,
"So am I",
A good companion,
You shall be.