THE MASTER BREWER

  The Master Brewer There is a distillery in our brains Its cane and malt, its hops and grains Are the stuff our lives are made of. Blizzard and snow, bush fires or drought Matches won by penalty shoot-out Fortunes lost at toss of a coin Over these and their likes, you are no doyen. The fuel for this distillery? Your emotions. Willy-nilly You stoke the fires as you vent your spleen. And another dram drip into the vat –unseen The master brewer is not the stars Not yet the gods. He is you, your very self. The final brew has no choice. It must be Bitter bile or sweet honey. But you can choose The magic potion, which can vouchsafe the taste: Your intentions, your memories and your reaction