To J.S.M. <br /> <br />The wine they drink in Paradise <br />They make in Haute Lorraine; <br />God brought it burning from the sod <br />To be a sign and signal rod <br />That they that drink the blood of God <br />Shall never thirst again. <br /> <br />The wine they praise in Paradise <br />They make in Ponterey, <br />The purple wine of Paradise, <br />But we have better at the price; <br />It's wine they praise in Paradise, <br />It's cider that they pray. <br /> <br />The wine they want in Paradise <br />They find in Plodder's End, <br />The apple wine of Herford, <br />Of Hafod Hill and Herford, <br />Where woods went down to Herford, <br />And there I had a friend. <br /> <br />The soft feet of the blessed go <br />In the soft western vales, <br />The road of the silent saints accord, <br />The road from heaven to Herford, <br />Where the apple wood of Herford <br />Goes all the way to Wales.<br /><br />Gilbert Keith Chesterton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-cider-song/
