I started to write
an ode to boxed wine, 
but words escaped me.
So I tried to write
a limerick about boxed wine:
there once was a boxed wine from France–
and the only rhyme
I could think of was “underpants”–
switched to haiku–not sure
if the boxed in boxed wine
was one syllable or two.
At the thought of a sonnet, 
opened the damn boxed wine
and had a few.