Vino Poem by Thomas Golding

Frenchmen are not all
They purport themselves to be as lovers.
To sing to talk and write of love few males
Of other lands may measure
If deeds could match devotion
They would be dangerous as apocalypse to women.
Then would their neglected partners
Not have to dress so well.
Poor femme sole
The attraction of a fine bouquet
Of Chateau Ausone or other vintage
Will leave them repining.
Always striving to compete
With a good seasons offerings
Those inconstant males
Their partners ever aware
That beauty must be striven for
If they wish eulogies of praise
Declaimed into willing ears
Rather than an empty glass.