I should not care of words I heard

I should not care of words I heard
Spoken in woolly ears of feted friends
Beneath a gloomy sky of smoke and ale,
Upon a bench of drink and bums
Sodden in a way of misery
Far from the churly ears of work
Under a barley star of freedom

I should not stand for triteness
Nor shy away from pompousness,
But glory in the revel of the evening
As gory heads are lolling
Though the trauma of the dawn.

To be easy in the way of words
Spoken in silent love of things
Both dear and not dear
And peaceable and passionate
Till it echoes from the door,
In a reeling week of selflessness.