For here you are thus early soiled and tanned
A sorry subject for a verse creator,
A damned inverted pewter in your hand,
Some draggled immortelles around your crater.
They speak, somehow, of drought, and dust, and sand,
And summer’s hell that’s waiting for us later,
And flies innumerable and small black ants,
And several thousand other irritants.
[26]
]“Beer is Enough” is another piece full of racy virtue, expressed with perverse ingenuity:
Beer is enough. Let Love roost on his perch,