Be it rye, barley, berries: whichever my glass carries - will keep me content- if only for a brief moment. These fermented cherries do cause the little fairies - to speak, very, kindly to me, far as my eyes can see. Could it be: thee- yeast has suddenly caused a cease - in sanity- for me? Or is it that I've, simply, released - my need for other people's nods and approvals? Have I, merely, stopped caring what fellow pupils - see and/or feel when they look or think t'ward me?