I think that I shall never hear,
a poem lovely as a beer.
a beer whose frothy mug is pressed,
against my mouth like a flowing breast;
a beer that bathes in a keg all day,
with bittersweet nectar for which I pray;
a beer my throat in summer quench,
served on a tray by a busty wench;
when the empty mug on the counter is lain;
refill it quickly with the fruit of the grain.
poems are written by beer drinkers like me,
so order 'nother round while I take a pee.