by | Jun 19, 2010 | Poetry | 0 comments

Bacchus you are hereby accused of rape
Of a world dependant on the liquid grape
As you are the God with face of purple flush
Not so much a God, yet more a drunkard lush.

As the fiery hot liquids touch the lips
Man’s good senses, over a bad habit trips
And as the fluids invade the sensible mind
It changes the good into another kind.

They say that sweet music for you has been sung
And finest wine keeps many a person young
Does it not also keep the pocket empty?
Coins it cost, given to many landlords plenty.

Bacchus you are hereby brought to highest court
To answer to those who now have less than naught
But first, let courtroom fill its bounteous cup
And let us now, of the finest liquid sup



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