Leaving Avignon, a sad “adieu,”
Province would, all too soon, become a dream,
Settling in ‘en train’, content; we knew
we’d long recall these fleeting scenes.
Through filmy windows, suddenly all green,
My photo lens embraced the verdant pastures,
Lime and Kelly shades, like jellybeans
whizzing past; our senses were enraptured.
To satiate, a ‘verre du vin’ we captured;
Mouton Cadet ‘en bouteille’, a prize,
We sipped, (as if a couple in brochure),
When, suddenly, reflection caught my eye.
Bucolic frames ‘top label verse, on glass,
Sips, scenes and Bordeaux memories were cast.
We took the high-speed train from Avignon to Paris, and while we were blown away by the miles of verdant, lush fields and farmland serenity, our wine offered us an even more memorable moment. There, reflected on the bottle, were passing scenes! Upon translating the label verse, we had to agree: Wine is born, is alive and enjoyed, and once tasted, lives on in man’s memory of that moment. This moment, with France’s countryside outside our window and reflected on our bottle of Mouton Cadet, is one that we will long recall with fondness.