NeuroDivine

From Bushmills’ coast the malts arise,
Black Bush with warmth that stays;
The ten-year bright with morning light,
The sixteen deep as days.

The Reserve kept for nights of cheer,
Firelight falling low now;
A quiet dram, the hour held still,
As amber shadows glow.

A pink gin softens fading light,
Sloe gin warms the cool air;
And port, when taken gently warm,
Brings peace beyond repair.

Then orchard gifts our glasses fill,
Crisp cider from the hill;
And perry pale with gentle bite,
That makes the evening still.

One bottle waits in honoured place,
Four Hundred, resting long;
Not prized for gain nor market’s turn,
But kept where hearts belong.

Written 2026. Copyright Michael McFarland Campbell.