Bacchus by Ralph Waldo Emerson

If I must drink of the vine
at least let it be
something containing majesty
not just your standard swill
but a potion of ambrosiac proportions
liquor distilled
beer barely virgin enough for the tasting
and brandy randy choice chasing

A crazed fool
going over silver hills
staring at statues
assimilating the stare of rainbows
teaching lessons one already knows
actualizing lemon-mint blows
as nature refreshingly spritzes
my story of adventure
and after-thought