‘Twas two nights before Christmas
10:15, at least.
Not a creature was stirring
(except for the yeast)
Lafayette Ave heard quite a ‘Hooray!’
As Community Beer Works moved in today.
Dave had gone home; so had Greg, Matt and Chris.
Ethan and Dan had given their wives a kiss.
Rudy remained, sipping a geuze
And loaded up Youtubes guaranteed to amuse.
When quietly he heard some knocks at the door:
Two, then a pause, and then three more.
CBW, by and large, is a heathenous gang;
Less Moses and Simon; more Cthulhu fhtagn.
Not much inclined to believe in Saint Nick,
Yet the knocking went on, so Rudy sprung up right quick.
He opened the door, saw a man all in red,
A shadowy figure, hood over his head.
‘Ho ho, erm, ho,’ half guffaw, half cough,
He produced some hops, and he listed them off.
‘On Cascade, on Centennial, Zeus and Chinook!
‘On Sorachi Ace, I’ve written a book!’
The man handed a tome, bound all in leather.
Rudy flipped through it, finding recipes quite clever.
Saisons with dry hops, sours with cherry.
The mention of brett made Rudy get merry.
Ales with smoked malt, porters with oak,
Beer after beer from the man in the cloak.
Turning the pages, things soon got weird.
Peppermint cream ale? He scratched at his beard.
‘Uh, thanks, I guess,’ Rudy said. ‘But why?’
‘Never you mind,’ came the strange man’s cryptic reply.
”Tis the season of giving, a great time to share.
‘So I’m doing my part, to show that I care.
‘No thanks needed,’ the man said with a grin.
‘Just read that book, and use the recipes withing.’
The whole situation was really quite odd.
‘Right! Well, I’m off,’ the man said with a nod.
Though plenty mysterious, he was really quite nice
And bestowed upon Rudy more parting advice.
As a slogan he suggested ‘Novus Ordo Seclorum’
But it’s already in use; we’ll likely ignore him.
Alone once again, Rudy considered his fate.
Paid to brew beer, and to work with his mates.
To make these strange beers? He thought that he might.
And with that, Rudy thought he would call it a night.
He locked the front door and started to go
Then stopped: for there were no tracks in the snow.
Had he dreamed it? Was the man ever there?
That at once pine and spruce were all through the air.
And a deep, booming voice rang clear through the night:
‘Merry Christmas to all, and to all a full pint!’