A Poem Lovely As A Beer

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.