In those wee days of life on this plane,
milk was one sweet thing for tea and others on its lane.
It was cool to call it miuk, so long as milk showed up;
the corrupted name didn’t matter as it didn’t draw the cane.
One day, bad liquid miuk got into my stomach from a cup.
Its upset put me in its enmity club.
The upset was over in a few days and life went on.
Going forward though, I walked the path of miuk’s discernment club.
Forty years later, I part ways with muik and friends, one by one.
It reminds of things we used to love but now in the class of bygones.
Then it’s fun to watch the young relish the love of those things
while we bask in the glory of our new found dawn.