A poem by, well, Ian sort of.
Oh, Iniquity, you strong and potent drink,
With your amber hue and fiery brink,
You have the power to lift the spirit high,
And make the heart sing with a youthful sigh.
But with every pleasure comes a price,
And the cons of whisky are not so nice,
For it can lead a man down a path of destruction,
And leave him lost in a sea of seduction.
Yet still we're drawn to your sweet embrace,
Your raw, untamed flavours we cannot replace,
And though we know the risks and dangers,
We savour your taste like thirsty strangers.
So here's to the good and the bad of whisky,
May we always appreciate its beauty,
But never forget the price we pay,
When we indulge in the pleasures that lie that way.
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