Melanie’s Old English beer poem! Well, not really old english, but I tried

Pale Ale

I still haven’t made up with my girlfriends whom forsaken me, so I made up this beer poem. Now I must take my leave and get hammered. Cheerio.

A lithe woebegone girl drifted into a pub

She slumped down on a stool

Her cold hands did she rub

The barman bit his brazen cue

Asked the downtrodden lady

“What can I git you?”

“I’ll have my usual, Andy, old friend.

Something to dampen my heart, something for it to mend.”

Andy smiled beneath beard of scruff,

“Coming up, Mel. We’ve got the right stuff.”

Andy returns holding an ale of good blessing

Her eyes henceforth, a look of acquiescing

She raised the pint to her lips she must press

Tilted her head back, her mouth did confess

The bubbly of golden hue dons a mane of frothy tresses

One sip dost she take to numb her sodden senses

She doth not weep nor wail but sigh,

Places a hand on her one buxom thigh

“I downed this here beer and now’s left is naught. Why don’t ye be a good lad and get me another draught.”

“Beer here’s not dearth, I hath many more to quench thine thirst.”

He slides a new brew over,

Not too soon she will no

longer be sober

Who looks out those wary eyes

Whence her soul, “Whence comest thou lies?”

She peered inside her glass so barren

Empty as the tides of Charon

“Andy, my boy, my glass hath nary.

Now be a good lad and fill her up – beer me.”

drinking a pitcher of beerBarfly

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Filed under journal, Odes

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