Come December the grapes will hang in bunches overhead.
The sky will be the merest glimpse of light.
Green will predominate instead
The clouds will be no longer in our sight.
We'll sit around the table in a glorious gloom of green
And see the grapes above us as we lunch.
Then Paddy's special scissors will appear upon the scene,
And each of us will go home with a bunch.
Sour grapes here: