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