Right. So the Freemark Abbey wine has plummeted down to become a cringeworthy shadow of its former self.
Elegy to the late harvest that was killed out of sheer stupidity:
Your flavour, never fully recognized
You were too young to go this way
Your colour, deep as a simply setting sun
Your potential, as robust as newly budded roses
I bow my head in shame for my carelessness
Oh thorn of life, how could you take this one from me.
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