Buckfast Poem by PAUL COLVIN

Kids are laughing, drinking, flailing
Singing songs that sound like wailing.
Bottles full of deep dark wine
Their spirits high,
I’ll stick to mine.

Monastic clerics fortified this brew
In England’s south, they did construe
To make a wine, the world’s best
The Brothers grim
At their behest.

This vintage sold the world over
It’s been drunk by king as well as drover.
A dreaded thought runs through the head
Two pints of this
And you’ll be dead.

A potent alcoholic potion
A hefty drink if you’ve the notion.
Now it’s drunk by teens thought plucky
Their cheapest hit,
They call it Buckie.