Everything valuable about me
I protect beneath a wooden shell
To mature in my gut

If I harbor it long enough
It will be an intoxicating red

Serving, in the very least,
To bring a touch of blush
To the cheeks
Of the prettiest woman in the room

Serving, perhaps,
To magnetize people
Around a romantic ideology, mutually held,
But realized only when viewed
Through a softer lens

Hopefully, serving to
Drive allies from each other
So they can find within their own shells
Something just as red
And just as valuable

But, what purpose could that serve,
For me?
Allowing the to freely sup
The only thing that lends me purpose
Renders me a husk
Suitable only to be splintered

But, tell me,
What use is a full cask?
What sort of calling
Is putrefied wine?

So I am driven to ask the question,
How can I possibly be of sevice?