The words are in me and must pour out.
The sound and feel is like dice in a leather cup.
It rattles and slams down on the bar, and there it is.
Strewn between the beer and peanut shells.
The first lines bubble up unbidden.
The exposition might come later.
The statement passes through the elements,
the fire, air, water and earth.
If the verse is sound, if the words are true,
If the water is clean, if the grain is ripe,
If the hops are bitter, the sugar tingling pure,
then the living yeast can do it's work.
Let the words lubricate your thoughts,
loosen your to tongue,
and enliven your heart.
Slàinte, Ein Prosit, Cheers!
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