Picture by Jill Wellington from Pixabay.
I’ve been to some fancy parties,
And even to an RAF officer’s Mess.
But why everyone there seems to drink wine,
I really can’t hazard a guess.

Wine tastes to me, like unripe, sour fruit,
And makes me screw up my eyes.
My mouth shrivels up like a walnut
And my tongue dissolves to half of its size.

I brace myself to swallow it quick
But I wish there were less people about, 
As it descends like shards of glass down my throat.
I so wish that I could have spat it out.

Red wine, white wine, rose or sparkling,
To drink on its own or with a meal.
Chardonnay, Merlot and Pinot Noir 
Or Merlot on a two for one deal.

Red wine tastes like Sarson’s vinegar,
But proclaims to taste ‘brooding’ or ‘of berry’.
White wine tastes just like lemon-juice
And certainly doesn’t make me feel merry.

I suppose I’ve never learned to love the taste.
Wine’s not really for me, you see
So please don’t laugh or think that I’m stuck up
When I chink your glass with my mug of tea.



The End

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