The Valley that Calls by Deniz Besim - HTML preview

The Drink

In my hands I hold the cold, moist, clear glass

I take a gradual sip, it tastes like bliss,

The sweet, tangy taste of the drink is class,

A shot of alcohol, its bitter kiss.

Lightly with my finger I stir the ice

Cold and cool floating over the fizzy

A blend of many flavours, each so nice,

Tropical shots - in time I'll feel dizzy.

One more sip of the luxurious shot,

The world around me I have forgotten,

Its icy-coolness in a world so hot,

With nothing else am I now besotten.

These moist flavours of pineapple I hail,

There is nothing else quite like this cocktail.