You laugh to hear me accolade, but look around and what you see we owe our humble thanks to its small effluvium. I see you snigger behind your hand at me. Expand your mind beyond a child’s. These bottles high, these bottles low we owe to friends so small and vaporous. Inhale their essence in this glass. Taste the product of their feast. Ferment not your mind with care of morrow, but recognize our sires cares and woes. For from their fruit in these bottles bright and low, the mighty yeast transformed their efforts to ease our troubled grace.
