Becky

I grabbed her then, in drunken state amongst brave men, the night was late. One hand around her gracious neck, a well-formed mound, a nametag 'BECK'. I picked her up in rough incline and slurped her sweetened sap. She struggle not, her heart was mine, come rest my dear, sit in my lap. At last the deed was truly done I'd emptied out her core, as a tradition every Hun perceives with each small pore that life is beautiful if blond, with just a touch of fizz, no foreigner would dare abscond with her who is not his. And as I through the country roam from hills to ocean piers, my lips seek out that head of foam: A stein of German beer.