Red or white, rose or blush...
There's nothing so sublime
As vintage nectar of the grape
Taken from the vine.
Pallet pleasures boldly bottled;
Placed upon the rack,
Silent soldiers at attention
Ready to attack
The senses of its' victims
Until they're overwhelmed,
Sending cold reality into
Another realm.
Softening and mellowing
And loosening the lips,
'Til the temperamental tongue
Starts shooting from the hip.
But done in moderation
There is nothing quite so fine
As the sweet aroma of the grape;
The nectar of the vine.
No comments:
Post a Comment