Off the Bluebush

by J. P. Bourke

Sweep them aside, and fetch the frothing bowl

To warm the cockles of one’s inmost-soul.

Beer is enough.

Beer is enough. Though dreamers sigh and sigh

Of melting love, did love e’er quench a thirst?

Did ever Cupid, ’neath a brazen sky,

Hand out a pint to taper off a burst?

Can Daphne’s lips allay the wild desire

To wade in hops, when coppers are afire?

Beer is enough.