Stitched imprints on phial curves
holding frothing malted brew
against the fashioned oak you sit
my night revolves around its use
Nightly, weekly, weakened wills
do capture in your hallowed grin
though used to seal sweet boiled fruits
instead good cheer swills within
Kindly kiln the kindled days
which slowly toast my days away
pious piece of passive glass
let only I be lightly smashed
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