Fighting against the sun to work the field
Is how I spent each of my summer days,
To be rewarded with a harvest yield,
Filled with the nectar the gods use to pay.
I will collect the fruit off of the vine
To have them bake under the autumn heat.
In a fortnight, we can squeeze out the rind
By stomping them with the soles of our feet.
We’ll put the juice into an oak barrel
Which will be hidden in a cool, dry place
For four years. We will protect it from peril,
So we can ensure its elegant grace.
Do not seek out another finer wine
Than the one with Commandaria shine.
John Collings 