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May the devils have their due, and the angels get their share. Long live the home brewer of meads and brews and other godly delights that came from the yeast.
Here, here, to the dreamers that made the flavors of barley, hops, and malts.
Here, here, to the honey the fruits and maples that make the mead so sweet.
So raise your glass and tip your steines to the brewers that made life a lot more easier to shine.
Ziggy, zoggy, ziggy, zoggy, oy, oy, oy.
Copyright Michael Robert Triska 2023, A Oktoberfest speech.
Tadeusz Loarca Jan 2021
Boil, boil, toil and trouble
Yeast ferment, airlock bubble
Honey sugars turn to wine
A bouquet of flavors that taste divine
The raisins help give the yeast it’s power
While we wait hour by hour
The oldest alcohol known to man
So we drink it while we can

We brew the honey we brew the yeast
The concoction becomes a mighty beast
We brew it slow to make it strong
The process goes on for very long

You can add some fruit to give it flavor
Or some herbs given by the neighbor
Caramelize the honey to make a brochette
That will surely brighten your day

Add more honey to make it more sweet
Or add some tannins and serve with meat
Weather you have it outside or you decide to stay in
Make sure to take your metheglin
A fun poem that I made about making mead in the spirit of the old instructional type of poetry
Breon Mar 2018
Hearken, seeking hero:
Hear a scalding skald song!
Venture bold and bravely,
Bring a vintner victuals,
Sup on mead of mulling!
Mete the morning's merry,
Fortress; stand in fastness,
Fear no sorrow stalking.
I hate writing in this form, mostly because kennings are obnoxious in English. I love it.
Buzz, buzz, buzz go the bees, around and around my trees.
Making for me a little honey to put into my sweet mead.
The flavors will be so sweet, when I mix water with honey.
So thank you little bees for helping to make such sweet mead.
The bees are such awesome fellows, such very hard workers indeed.
So thank you my little friends, for the work you have done for me and my mead.
I worked on this poem as I was brewing my mead.
Michael Robert Triska Copyright 2017

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