I'Ll Drink Fine Wine
You’ll take to plow and yoke,
Work until your back is broke.
I’ll harvest grapes on time,
Make them into a fine wine.
You’ll build castle walls strong,
To repel angry throngs.
I’ll share a builder’s chalice,
Toast to life without malice.
You’ll boast of warriors’ brave,
While you are digging graves.
I’ll sing songs and write rhymes,
For the blood became wine.
You’ll suffer whims of fate,
Ever prone to human hate.
I’ll count it all joy, not loss.
My life covered by the cross.
You’ll howl a sorrowful squall,
Choosing cup of bitter gall.
I’ll rejoice in the divine,
Sipping on the finest wine!
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