There Are Beers And There Are Beers Poem by Orlando Belo

Oh, for Marsden's Pedigree Bitter
with its one and only taste.
No other beer comes close to it,
and not a drop do I ever waste.

When from the jug it is slowly poured
into a straight-sided glass,
I have to stop and stare in wonder
at its transparency, colour, and class.

When resistance becomes impossible
and I raise the glass up to my lips.
Anticipation drives my taste buds crazy,
which I reward with gentle sips.

As the Pedi touches and wets my tongue,
and my throat longs for the taste.
I try to take my time to savour and swallow,
but somehow it always goes down in haste.