The Beauty Of A Beer

The heady scent,
Of a long cold pint.
That first sip,
I can feel it,
Coursing through my veins.
As the glass,
Slowly empties,
I cannot help but mourn,
For as much as I would love,
Another healing brew,
I know I mustn't,
For early I must rise.
So I slowly leave the bar,
and something in me dies.

by R.M. Alexander

Other poems of ALEXANDER (14)

Comments (2)

I'll add my nine to his... Which reminds me I have an appointment with one on thursday; -) Amicalement votre Ronberge
Well you get the sympathy vote,9, from me. Did you have a cold when you wrote the last line?