This poem was originally published on 25 July 2016.

They were bottled souls,
Aged sixty,
Simply looking for a glass to fill.
So they asked for me,
And I came against my will.
Advice on the rocks,
Aged sixty,
A lad of my age ought to know.
I might not fancy the taste,
But it’s something to keep on the go.
All that they said,
Quite dated.
Both a bit bitter and sweet.
I was used to different flavours.
They were used to neat.
A bottled soul,
Aged eighteen,
Hopefully aging like fine wine,
With a distaste,
For the stale words of Wisemen,
Rendered poor old fools with time.

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