In Praise of Wine

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When I’m no longer here and am called to appear up on high on that Last Judgement Day,

And our Maker begins to examine my sins, I can truthfully then only say:


“I do not,” I’ll exclaim, “now remember the name of the girl, or the village that May: I but dimly recall the encounter at all, but the wine was a fine Cabernet.


“All the times that I strayed, all the errors I made, while I wondered which way I should go,

Of the toilsome travails I forget the details, but the wine was a fine Merlot.

And my deeds on that date when, sad to relate, I succumbed to unworthy desire,

AS you well might expect, I cannot recollect, but the wine was a fine Pinot Noir.


“How I’d hunt high and low for that special Bordeaux; I’d pursue every new Beaujolais:

And I’d spend money, Lord, I could then ill afford when the wine was a fine Chardonnay.

With the rest of the apes I would traipse through the grapes as we sampled the White Zinfandel:

I adored the bouquet of a luscious Tokay, and I idolized Graves and Moselle.


“Early on in my youth I discovered vermouth and had more than my share of Vouvray:

I would drink to keep warm any Port in a storm and I quipped as I sipped Montrachet.

I would stock my garage with the best Hermitage, Liebfraumilch, Sauvignon and Chablis:

I imbibed lots of Hock, far too much Armagnac, and I laughed as I quaffed Burgundy.


“So I humbly report all my sins to this court and I pray for Your pardon divine:

As you add up my score, I can ask nothing more than to help turn the water to wine.”


by John T Baker


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