I declare unto you there's a brew that is true, <br />Golden brown until we make it white; <br />It's drunk in the morning, it's drunk after noon, <br />In the evening, and also at night. <br /> <br />The procedure to make this infusion <br />Is quite ceremonial in China; <br />But this king of all drinks well deserves it, <br />To be honest there's just nothing finer. <br /> <br />Some take it with milk, some take it without, <br />Then the question is: 'One lump or two? ' <br />But whatever the colour or sweetness of taste, <br />You can't beat The Grand British Brew. <br /> <br />If your preference is for the Darjeeling, <br />Earl grey or 'P.G.' or 'Typhoo, ' <br />It makes not a farthing of difference, <br />You're choosing The Grand British Brew. <br /> <br />Now the yankees would drown us in coffee, <br />The fed's, in their wisdom, would too; <br />But that bean is a poor substitution <br />For the leaf in The Grand British Brew. <br /> <br />I've tried every other refreshment <br />That the world has to offer to me, <br />But I find myself always returning <br />To the brew that is true: to my tea. <br /> <br />Written Oct 1994<br /><br />John Carter Brown<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-grand-british-brew/
