Gordon's Gin holds no allure for me,
It's fit for only humble G and T.
A Royalist drunk? Well, that'll be the day!
So Beefeater Gin will also hold no sway.
I'm too cantankerous toward the Tanquery,
Martinis can't be mixed with apathy.
The only London dry that I desire?
That triple distilled elixir Bombay Sapphire.
Forgive my sounding romantic or fanatical
Whilst I wax lyrical about its ten botanicals:

The almonds and the lemon peel from Spain,
Contrasting flavours, compliment the grain.
Add to this the Coriander seed,
Juniper berries, of course, are guaranteed,
Orris root from sunny Italy,
Angelica root from the heart of Saxony,
Cubeb berries, liquorice from Cathay
And Cassia bark all add to the bouquet.
To finalise this decalogue of vice
Is spice and bite of Grains of Paradise.

Martini drinkers heed this sound advice;
Into the mixing glass you've filled with ice
Drizzle just one shot of dry vermouth,
Noilly Prat is preferable for use,
Stir to coat the glass and then discard,
Though to some this still seems avant-garde.
Now to your ice you pour six shots of gin,
With utmost care as if rare medicine.
Recite a favourite verse and stir this potion,
Taking time, this cocktail needs devotion.
Then strain your drink into a frosted glass,
Take a sip and feel yourself relax.
Garnish with some jazz, forget all bother,
Appreciate its taste and mix another.