This Bread I Break by Dylan Thomas — Read

This bread I break was once the oat, / This wine upon a foreign tree / Plunged in its fruit; / Man in the day or wind at night

Laid the crops low, broke the grape's joy.

Once in the wine the summer blood / Knocked in the flesh that decked the vine, / Once in this bread / The oat was merry in the wind;

Man broke the sun, pulled the wind down.

This flesh you break, this blood you let / Make desolation in the vein, / Were oat and grape / Born of the sensual root and sap;

My wine you drink, my bread you snap.