My taste would make true connoisseurs rebel:
I pick my buy by looking at the label.
The vintage and the name only confuse
my unschooled senses; what could be refuse
to the discerning, I embrace on instinct,
even though the asking price renders distinct
what's plonk and what is not. One might contest
elitist differentiation; my sole protest
is how some critics seem to value breed;
what they read is what they've always read.
No need, I say, to keep the gig exclusive;
for time in all things makes the fairest reckon:
which wines to palate purest pleasures give,
which lines entice most lovers to drink on.
19 November 2003 11:13 hours