The Wine Poem by Victoria Davis
The Wine
Pressed of two vineyards - fine grapes all;
After years in darkness, aging in the best oak,
letting flavours mellow, intoxicants build -
now in a crystal goblet stands the wine of our lives -
deep crimson and gleaming.
Who will lift the glass and drink?
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5/11/2024 12:59:12 AM # 1.0.0.1119
