I whisk and sop up flowered crop,
Gilded bread balms the air.
I wick the waxen throne once sewn,
And shade hair fade to fair.Hexadic rind, manna, soma,
A theft left wanting more.
Honeyed wine for a wearied mind,
Drunken, yet still we pour.Β© Sayer Teller
Great poem.. I have never tasted mead yet I can relate to the troubles it is intended to drown.. π
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Nice poem, one of my favorite drinks π Have a bunch I really need to bottle up!
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Mine as well, my friend. Making spirits is a great past-time, made plenty of cider and wine in the past myself.
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It does give one an appreciation of things. The science and trials behind making a perfect taste. Then the drinking gives such inspiration.
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Nothing sweeter than the fruits of one’s labours, haha.
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