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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