I was taking a creative writing course once and the assignment was to write a poem praising something. This conjured up thoughts of a some Victorian guy in a frilly shirt with a goose quill writing an "Ode to a Spring day" or something. I was struggling with that thought in my head, and knew I could not do it. Then the whole poem just appeared in my head. I received an A with the following.
Some poets may choose nature, the subject of their praise
Others may choose heroes, noble in their ways
But in these days of haste and nuclear waste
With terrorist breeding fear
We must give thanks to the simple things
Most of all for beer
Though it lacks the romance of a fine cognac
or imported french champagne
It was discovered by ancient Egyptians
In their stores of fermenting grain
The night around the round table
would raise their chalice high
propose a toast to Aurthur, their host
Then they'd drain them dry.
Americas favorite beverage, this crutch of the working class
Comes packaged quite convenient
in bottles, cans, or glass
In backyards across the nation
you can smell the steaks agrilling
and hear the same old argument
Taste great! No, less filling.
Some poets may choose nature, the subject of their praise
Others may choose heroes, noble in their ways
But in these days of haste and nuclear waste
With terrorist breeding fear
We must give thanks to the simple things
Most of all for beer
Though it lacks the romance of a fine cognac
or imported french champagne
It was discovered by ancient Egyptians
In their stores of fermenting grain
The night around the round table
would raise their chalice high
propose a toast to Aurthur, their host
Then they'd drain them dry.
Americas favorite beverage, this crutch of the working class
Comes packaged quite convenient
in bottles, cans, or glass
In backyards across the nation
you can smell the steaks agrilling
and hear the same old argument
Taste great! No, less filling.
