There is a bubbly –
sparking, light,
That’s cheap but
certain to delight.
A crisp refreshing quenching
drink
That’s prepped beside
the kitchen sink.
No luscious grapes of
red or blue
Are needed for this
fizzling brew.
No arduous grafting in
the field
To guarantee a
prosperous yield.
Instead I’ll take a
peaceful stroll,
With scissors and a
spotty bowl,
Until I find a bustling
hedge
Where baby birds are
known to fledge.
I’ll snip and gather
countless flowers
Beneath the sun and
squally showers,
Before returning, face
aglow,
To steep my blooms in
H2O.
I’ll boost my blend
with lemon juice,
Some peel and sugar,
then I’ll sluice.
I’ll add a lid of
flimsy weave,
And in the shed, I’ll
duly leave.
If foam and spume do
not appear,
And if the liquid still
looks clear,
I’ll lift it with a
glug of yeast,
A nutrient at very
least.
When it froths, I’ll
drain it off
Through fine and gauzy
muslin cloth.
(I should have made a jug
or two
To divvy at my barbecue!)
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