A revision of something I wrote in 1994 on a north-bound train. I probably tossed it aside since I was still in my anti-rhyme period. It's perfectly OK for a drinking song to rhyme.
Pound the grape, pour the wine.
The lads will serve us,
the maids will twine
our heads with laurels
and leaves from the vine.
Live and love, fight and die!
The gods will give us
a piece of the sky,
a garland of bright stars
to remember us by.
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