After Robert Louis Stevenson’s Stout Marches Lead to Certain Ends

STOUT beer leads to certain ends,
I sought no Holy Brew, my friends –
That style should find us every day
Some stoutening stoutness is its way.

This beer pours dark from east to west,
Malted aromatics stretches nose then rests.
The head has crowned – pint glass, not a yard.
Chestnut in color, this won’t be too hard.

We two are friendly friends, me and this beer
The other STL brewery snores far and near.
So wretchedly they brew their make,
Yet Schlafly begs to be the one you take!

– Standard stout! this is no A+ way,
A thousand other stouts wait for a day;
With us, they march in from left and right,
A thousand bottled black golds seek the light.