White Dog Down ( ? - 2010)

Ode to the Grape

Deep within a sense of place,
Our region, terrior, A.V.A.,
A round, near perfect, juicy embrace,
Of an orb to cause a soiree.

Tenderly squished by bladder press,
Or punched by paddle and pole,
These winemakers, nay, artists profess,
Labors of love. They shall extol.

Extensions of a miracle, squeezed.
Acidic. Earth. Alive.
From these spheres, the Gods appeased,
A complex nose to revive.

Autumn’s toil turns fiery kiss,
With a swish, a sniff, and a taste.
Elements in the glass reminisce,
Of past years. We are graced.

The spirit thirsts for answers, facts,
Among a throng of friends.
With moments in time, a place to relax,
This earthly splendor transcends.

So with glass in hand ponder this,
The brilliance from the vine.
Offer up a smile, a kiss,
A toast. Enjoy this wine.