Fill Every Beaker Poem by Roy Ballard

Like racing horses come the stormy rains,
with lightning in their hooves and howling breath;
with snow and hailstones whipping us like chains
to bring unsheltered men to freezing death.
Defy the storm; light up the lamps and fire.
What are we waiting for? Bring out the wine.
The last dull glimmers of the day retire.
Now is the time to venerate the vine,
the only remedy the dark earth knows
for all the thoughts by which the mind is vexed.
Fill every beaker till it overflows,
let every one be jostled by the next.
Oblivion is how the world began
and wine's a thing that understands a man.