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Why wine

so many gallons of it, of highest quality, smooth but potent: where did it come from? the servants who filled the jars with water have the clue, but must keep mum; most guests, incurious, gratefully quaff it he’d first refused his mother’s hint, but she told the servants to do whatever he said, confident, it seemed, in his generosity, not to say frivolity, in using such power, towards hospitality, even drunkenness since this time and place, wine can claim religious respectability, and must be on the menu of any posthumous paradise, as ambrosial at least as that at Cana, with the tasteful byline ‘a little taste of heaven’

Copyright © | Year Posted 2024




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Date: 3/10/2024 4:13:00 AM
This poem is exceptional. I have placed it in my favourites.
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