From the history of the vine Poem by Eugenijus Ališanka

I matured slowly
bred from good berries not grapes
from the local gene pool
from gardens where once
the horse of tamerlain topped off the soil
I was kept cold too close to the window
I saw enough life
learned to change color even at night
no one could tell if I was ripe
father seldom scolded
I had time
to ferment in my own juice
sometimes to sourness of eye
so I never matured
still froth still air bubbles
skim the surface
I myself am afraid I'll become vinegar
what will I say the day of the last binge
when dionysus comes and asks who are you

Translated by Harvey L. Hix and the author