The grapes mature until a turgid grace
fulfills the time the hogsheads hail the vines
With tender care the wine arrives apace
The vintner is the servant to his wines
I tasted many wines in this old place
And time is not my friend my days are less
The wine, gone from the cask without a trace
Except the scent of spirits from the press
So too the memories linger like bouquet
Of fine wine though the palate makes it true
Large tuns hold must but shortly fade away
Recall remains, device must soon renew
My vessel is assuredly giving way
A heart of wine endures I shan’t inveigh