I know thou wouldst have made a vintage fine,
mayhaps merlot or pinot noir, a bold
or vibrant cabernet, a boastful wine
to leave fond memories for hearts to hold.
As merely juice your mark you could have made
on some tot's hectic day, when fleeting flash
of impish grins gave way to gulps of ade
that left on lips a bright, purple mustache.
Or whole, upon a lover's bunch to pluck,
in sweet repose thou couldst have hung genteel,
amongst the sweet delights and, given luck,
thou wouldst have been the one chosen to peel.
But no, twas in the sun you sat to roast,
then mixed into a loaf, and thence my toast.