Basalmic Vinegar Did Not Get Its Taste On The Table Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

It begins in vineyards of old
With choicest of grapes picked
By grape pickers who sing to
Each grape telling of to go and
Make good wherever it goes and
Like a bride it goes into the
Basket with a mission.

Then comes the process that only
AItalians swear will never be known
To the world for they guard it with
The jealousy of a girlfriend threatened
By the ex. The barrels in cellars
Full sit waiting for refills sure
That all will know they are made of
The finest oak for the smell and
Taste says it all. When the long
Winding road to the tables of the
Rich comes to the end their pallets
Attest to that the finest of vinegars
Surely is here being served. The price
Attests to that which is why to you and
Our pallets we stand the wretched of the
World for to us vinegar is cider vinegar
And the lot.Lost in this shallow end we
Think this vinegar got to the table like
Any other. Like all things special it
Does not tell its story well, but just
Delivers what is promised in silence.