Elfin War

In a tavern by the war-torn land, Where soldiers gather, a motley band, Amidst the clash of swords and guns, A tale of beer and battles runs. The tavern stood, with walls of oak, A refuge from the war's cruel stroke, A haven for the weary souls, Where tales of bravery and fear unrolls. Behind the bar, a brewer wise, With weathered hands and knowing eyes, He spoke of beer, a liquid gold, A story in each mug, so bold. His beer, a potion brewed with care, In copper kettles, secrets rare, A dance of hops and malt combined, A taste of solace in troubled times. The ale was dark, like midnight's shroud, Yet smooth and rich, like tales avowed, A hint of caramel, a touch of smoke, A flavor that made the patrons provoke. Amidst the hush, the patrons spoke, Of battles fought, of hearts that broke, They shared their stories, wounds unseen, In candlelight, the tavern's serene. A soldier grizzled, with eyes of steel, Told of a fight, a bloodied field, Where comrades fell, and heroes rose, In the face of death, they stood, unbowed. A woman, strong, with spirit bright, Spoke of a child, lost in the night, Yet hope endured, in spite of dread, In the tavern's warmth, tears were shed. The tavern owner, with a solemn air, Poured beer with a steady, practiced care, He listened to the tales they told, His beer, a balm for hearts grown cold. In that tavern, by the war's cruel edge, Amidst the pain, the fear, the pledge, A brewer and his beer held sway, A beacon in the dark, a guiding ray. And so the stories flowed like wine, In that tavern, where hearts entwine, A testament to human grace, Amidst the chaos of war's embrace.