“Where is the wine that ever forged its glass? None ever, oh, none ever, For garnet contradiction holds it fast. The cup is but a spill belied, And wine englassed is flow denied. Where is the glass that ever made man fall? None ever, oh, none ever, For trampled grape, disordered dream, and all, Drain down his throat like whispered lies, The glass left empty as his eyes. Where is the poison that was in the wine? Forever, oh, forever It claims his veins to be its vine, Its fruit cold stones, its scent stopped breath, For wine’s true form wreathes through his death.” Poem Author:S. E. Porter