I love rosé
even though it’s declassé
and oenophiles won’t touch it with a pole. 
It’s such a cheerful shade
a dawn that doesn’t fade. 
It brings a taste of summer to my soul. 

From the Luberon or Spain
or some other rainless plain,
each bottle’s filled with lazy afternoons
of sitting in cafés
and whiling sunny days
while eating cheese and grapes and macaroons. 

You can keep your chardonnay
and your nouveau beaujolais
and your cabernets both franc and sauvignon. 
For I love rosé
no matter who says nay. 
I’ll raise my rosy glass and say “c’est bon!”