The vines that
Bore my fruit were
Decades old before
Your first planting
I sat in wood for
Another decade
Gathering flavor
and seasoning
From ancient oak
cured in fire
Soaked in fruit to
Give me taste
While you learned to
Walk and talk
and drank milk
and ate grapes
That could have
Been mine had
I been the
Vine of your life
I came of age
Before you could
Drink or eat or
Touch or feel
Before you tasted
Life or wine in
All its flavors
I sat in wood
Waiting to see
Light through
Colored glass that
Would protect
You found me on a shelf of
My own design, never
Opened to the air, never
Poured, never tasted
I am told that wines
of a certain age
Gather flavor and body that
Rival younger wines
I am told that wines
of a certain age
Sit well on experienced
Palates with educated tastes
I am told that rare wines are
Valuable and collected and
Meant to be savored with
Genuine love
There is only one bottle.
It needs to breathe and
Pour its love into a glass
Will you join me in a toast –
To life
To love
To this rare vintage
meant for you
Alone.