The first frost glazed the field of grape
Where they make ice wine every year
The wine that lets your tongue escape
Your Inhibitions disappear
As on the deck I am drinking
Into delirium - am sinking
I lift my glass to one with me
Making a toast, set myself free
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
very good write flows well and the words used fit together really well