Nullam, Vare Poem by Morgan Michaels

Varus, when you plow the red earth of Tibur valley
there where the slopes of Catillis reach your walls
plant nothing before the dark vine stock
whose juice makes everything easy:
for stewed, who cares if death alone ends toil?
pissed, who cares if life at the front sucks?
Those who refuse your refections, O Baccus, might
pass on the gifts of lovely Venus. By all means, drink-
but lightly-never lean too heavily on lispy Liber.
Remember those famous spoilers, centaur and Lapith*
whose drunken duels made even Baccus blush?
may I never so abuse you, gentle Basso
or tell tales whispered in my tipsy ears,
tattle, roll gossip's drum, or chatter like one
who doesn't know that it marks him for a fool,
pleased to distort facts and spew
vile rumors behind another's back.


*famous party-poopers. google S.V.P.