I think that I shall never hear
A poem lovely as a beer.
The brew the Camelot served on tap
With golden base and snowy cap.
The stuff I'd drink throughout the day
Until my memory went away.
Poems are made by fools, I fear
But more than Coors now grew good beer.
And thanks to Phil for the Camelot reference... ah, the memories...
1 comment:
You should write this on our Poe-tree at the library.
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