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So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.


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An Ode to Rootbeer
by: Zanzibar

I wandered far (as I had planned)
From the bosom of my native land
To cast my eyes on foreign sights
To smell and taste their strange delights
But though a far-off fling is brave and new
No foreign flavor could thy taste subdue.
You, whom every heartbeat lauds
You, sweet nectar from the Gods
I cannot live without you, je dois l'admettre
Ma joie de vivre, ma raison d'être !
Every other sensation bows, vapid, bland,
To you, my life, my country: canned.

---An Ode to Rootbeer, by Me, upon the occasion of drinking a rootbeer

and the counterpoint, written by my friend from the perspective of our rootbeer-hating mutual friend from Europe:

A rejoinder to “An Ode to Rootbeer”, by this mysterious “Me”, from the perspective of Gro, in Rhode Island

I wandered to Providence land
Whence Providence let go my hand
Entrapped in an ivory tower
Martian rock, reflecting my glower
Temptation I could not withstand
A siren, with a song, canned and sweet;
“With the Gods’ ambrosia, it can compete!”
So I drank a foul swig
Like a urine-drenched brig
It brought nausea and lifted my feet
I’ve had flesh of Chondrichthyes fermented
But have met nothing quite as ill-scented
As cough-syrup mated with fructose and: canned

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