Wine's Captive Poem by Shaun Cronick

A bottle of red, a bottle of white,
Any colour makes my day.
And when they're polished off,
I'll reach for the Rose.

I'm quite the connoisseur,
A most refined wine snob.
Choosy in what I select,
Unlike a beer guzzling slob.

I've explored France and Spain,
Discovering many new brands.
Big bottles containing small secrets,
Uncorked by my thirsty hands.

I pour out a generous measure,
Let it breath a moment or two.
Inhale its fragrant aroma's,
Then do what I enjoy to do.

First I'll take a little sip,
Swill it around my palette.
Consume this cherished liquid,
Its taste to never forget.

A whole bottle of Bordeaux,
I can most merrily consume.
Then a giant of Nebuchadnezzar,
In just one afternoon.

As early evening beckons,
I haven't finished yet.
There's many a bottled Riesling,
On which my thirst is set.

Then off to the wine bar,
My appetite still to sate.
Perhaps some hidden treasures,
Unexpectedly lie in wait.

Of all the wine I've drunk,
I have never spilt a drop.
I always empty my glass,
My craving just won't stop.

I'm up like the lark,
Then down into my cellar.
Uncorking a meritable Merlot,
Bought from a local seller.

Then I raise my glass,
And make a long toast.
To all the fine wines,
I have consumed the most.

I'm simply wine's captive,
To the grape forever chained.
Wine's bidding slave I am,
Wine cellar's I have drained.

And when I overdo it,
Exceed my sobriety quota.
My liver and kidneys groan,
And I care not one iota.

But I'll be right as rain,
Quickly back into my stride.
For the world's bottled wines,
From me they cannot hide.

Cheers!
Skol!
Nostrovia!
And bottoms up!