it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
We are poured out like wine
Deep red and rich every drop
Made airborne with a flick
A sudden stop, a turnabout
We pass with the spin of a glass
From earth to air and back
Almost black, but red the same
And of that birth, quite fair
Of vine from water and ground
And air - and indestructible fire
And they tire, tire of draught
We are drunk for better or worse
Imbibed and oblated and sunk
Until satiated or else the cask
Drowned in atmosphere
And laughed clear as summer noon
Runs down, and where now
Is the vinedresser and gardener
They aver - but for our lack
Who would know they were gone
Drunk too, with the fruit of the sea
Poured out like wine
But the glass is empty --
This time.

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