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Eh
Twinkle, twinkle,
Little stream,
Are you really,
What you seem?
Flowing smoothly,
Onto the ground,
As more beers,
We put down.
I think to myself,
The use of legs,
To allow the return,
To the beloved kegs.
And I ponder,
About my hands.
Just the right size,
For a coupla' cans.
As for my mouth,
There is no doubt,
It lets it in,
And heaves it out.
And my eyes,
Can tell the time,
Of another fill,
And the length of the line.
Though my ears,
I could do without,
When I hear,
"It's your shout!"
