The Pale Ale

Anyone for cricket?
On a warm Summers day
A cream and green can
Let’s all watch them play
Its Anspach and it’s Hobday
In a brewing shebeen
Where the freshest and most secret hops
Have begun to Set the scene

Imagine it now
Nothing to compare
With the finest ale brewed
We should all be aware
Of its subtle profusion
of the love sweat and tears
Of the lightest of malts
And the great cry of “cheers”

With its vital bitterness
One might exclaim
It reminds us of long long ago
When we claim
It’s craft spirit Secret
That now Seemingly
May reach the true king
By July possibly

A golden halo
A froth of desire
Crisp on the palate
A Velvety fire
Of sophistication
From Almost anywhere
Roll the dice
I will be there
My hand in yours
Taste that wonderful brew
and just take the applause

Serve with medjoul dates
For that Eastern acclaim
And As your thirst is quenched
You will not feel the same
For the secrets discovered
What is alchemy
Just the twang of the willow
And the ball flying free

The Pale Ale

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