Monday, August 1, 2011


The wind blew in my face
Chill, piercing, like a thousand knives
I cycled on the open street
No lights, no trees, no life

My helmet being the only burden,
I felt weightless, ever so light
My knees were stiff from the cold
As I pedalled to the nearest pub in sight

I needed to get to a pub real fast
I was going to freeze if I let it pass
My joints were sore from the cold
Cycling with the stiffness was quite a task

What is it about the cold and beer
That rushes every Irish from far and near
I'd usually prefer a coffee in the chill
But this is Ireland, thanks a mill!

Asked for my pint of guinness
The local brand of barley juice
The Irish forever swear by it
Who really cares? It's just booze

Took down a huge gulp
Dark, heavy, and bitter
I could feel it go down my throat
I felt warmth as I shivered

There's something about this dark beer
I scanned the pub real quick
Old men, middle aged and young girls
All held a pint and bonded with instinct

They say beer is an acquired taste
And Guinness, you'll need more beers to acquire
But three pints down, and I love it
What do they say again - More than two and it's a habit? :P

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