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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem