Winter Wine: Poetry

Let it be known
that words are like
the finest wine,
best served cold
but in warm environs fine,
And though differing
palates may prefer
differing tastes,
A writer given his due,
will always hold true,
that a pen is a
terrible thing to waste:

To be a artist of
the written word,
it is best not to be
green,
an unripe phrase
won't gain sufficient praise
to keep our literature
clean

The characters
should not be flabby,
musty-smelling or corked
If I've got to reread
until the eyes bleed
it's got to be reworked

I'm not up for the heated
setting nor the backdrop
that comes off tart,
Not many can truly blaze
satiric irony page after page
So if all else fails,
just write from the heart

For my own taste,
I like a dash of the elegant,
a slight tannic sprig on the tongue
I don't like the rough
and the toasty,
I prefer my writing aged 'till done

Take this as you will,
these idle lines on how
to do the job
Yet keep in mind,
like a connoisseur of wine,
that I'm a literature snob.

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