Belch

A rumbling rose from dinner's end,
A humble belch, a gentle friend—
A puff of air, a cheeky sigh,
Escaping loud where flavors lie.

In bustling pubs or quiet tea,
It breaks the silence, wild and free,
A chorus low, a comic note,
That tickles throats and lifts the throat.

So raise a glass, let laughter peal,
Celebrate the belch we feel—
For in that brief, unguarded blast,
We taste the joy of meals that last.