Foam rises to the top
The silky and pure
But airy and bland to the tongue
Not fully to blame
False assumtions are made
That beauty is found in the young
But the finest of arts
Are made heavy with time
They simmer, and sink to the bottom
So when the lights fade
I gaze to the glass
Those deepest lines shan’t be forgotten
These walnut haze stains
Those tiny black flakes
Whose flavor exceeds humdrum savor
Far too bitter to some
But too many forget
That the dregs are the source of the flavor
-Galwyn
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