Twelve drummers drumming began our parade,
Keeping time with a Zin that the holidays made.
Wild strawberries danced, blackberry pie filled the air,
And a whisper of mint wound its way everywhere.

With cinnamon, roses, and chai drifting through,
Its plush velvet texture warmed the whole crew.
Each sip hit the beat with a rich, festive spin—
Oh what joyful commotion… from a single bold Zin!

For the eleventh wine of Christmas, the vineyard sent to me…
A Pouilly-Fumé singing like a Loire symphony.

With notes of green apple and bright tangerine,
A shimmer of flint from the hillsides unseen;
White blossoms that dance with a citrusy leap,
A minerally whisper both polished and deep.

Eleven pipers piping through the shop in a line—
And each raised a glass of this crisp Sauvignon wine.

Ten lords went leaping with joy through the night,
For a Pinot that shimmered in ruby-violet light.
With cherry and cranberry dancing in air,
And whispers of plum, bergamot, and tea everywhere.

They bounded with laughter, they vaulted with grace,
At the graphite-tinged finish that quickened the pace.
“Such purity! Such freshness!” the leaping lords cried—
A Pinot like this makes it hard keep your excitement inside.

Nine ladies dancing, lit Golden by Champagne glow,
Spinning raspberry ribbons through soft December snow.
Their glasses lift up, up, up - their footwork light and sweet—
Strawberry, cherry, citrus zest all keeping time in beat.

A waltz of brioche and peach, of bubbles fine and bright—
Laurent-Perrier’s rosé makes every swirl feel right.
So let the music sparkle, let the holidays advance—
For on the ninth day of Christmas, Champagne leads the dance.

Eight maids were milking… at least that was the plan,
Till Chardonnay happened and chaos began.
Buckets sat lonely, the cows rolled their eyes,
As lemon and brioche stole hearts (and their time).

With citrus so zippy and texture so lush,
This Sonoma Coast beauty caused quite the hush.
When MacRostie’s poured, let the chores take a pause —
Some wines are worth breaking a few dairy laws.

The seventh wine of Christmas came drifting down the stream,
A Cabernet from Clos du Val, refined as winter’s dream.
Blackberry, cassis, and violet whisper through the glass,
While plum and cherry linger as the graceful moments pass.
So let the season shimmer — let quiet beauty win —
For swans and Cabernet know elegance is found within.

Six geese a-laying? No — they’ve settled in to preen,
Enchanted by a Chianti from a noble Florentine.
Six centuries of Mazzei craft in every Tuscan sip,
With plum and spice and citrus peel that lingers on the lip.

Its tannins broad and polished, its minerality refined,
A wine that makes the season glow and quiets busy minds.
So raise a glass to Fonterutoli, historic, bold, and true —
And toast the geese who stopped their work for Sangiovese’s hue.

The fifth wine of Christmas put a sparkle in my wings,
It shimmered like a halo—yes, the first of five gold rings!

A tipple born of Pinot Noir, all strawberry, zest, and glow,
With bubbles light as mistletoe and mousse as soft as snow.

So raise a glass of Wedding Cuvée—no vows required tonight,
Just lemon zest and festive cheer to make your season bright.

Four calling birds perched high in the pines,
Screeching out secrets of Napa’s bold wines.
They whispered: “Go higher, where mountains grow steep—
Where tannins run firm and the berries run deep.”

CADE’s Howell Cab soared with that hillside flair,
dark fruit and chocolate wrapped up in mountain air.
Those calling birds knew what the wise always say—
When Cab comes from Howell, you don’t walk away.

In our wine shop sat three hens, très français,
Berets tilted just so, sipping red all day.
But here’s the joke that makes sommeliers grin—
These French hens chose Brunello instead of Châteauneuf within!

They clucked over leather, wild berries, and spice,
Saying, “Mon Dieu, Italy does it so nice!”
Forget Bordeaux—tonight Tuscany reigns supreme,
Three French hens toasting Il Poggiolo, living the dream.

Two turtle doves shared a Pinot so fine,
Rose petals and cherries danced through the wine.
Oregon whispering secrets of soil and stone,
Love in a bottle from vineyards well-grown.

They cooed over blood orange, spice, and soft earth,
A deep ruby beauty of Willamette birth.
In the glow of the season, this Pinot held sway—
Two turtle doves and a perfect holiday.

On the twelfth wine of Christmas, we land in glee,
With a Portridge in Pear Tree sipping port merrily.
A nutty rich nectar, ten winters in oak,
That warms up your soul like a good holiday joke.


He sips amber sweetness in his pear-filled estate,
Saying, “Port is perfect!” — and who could debate?
With hazelnut, fig, and spice swirling with cheer,
This Tawny’s the finish to a wonderful year.

On Christmas Day, when corks are pulled
And glasses catch the light,
We think of all the moments shared
That made this season bright.

From first-time sips to trusted picks,
From questions bold and wise,
You’ve filled our shop with laughter,
And kept the passion alive.

Thirty-two Christmases have come and gone,
Yet still we’re standing here—
Because of every friendly face
That walks in year to year.

So here’s our toast, sincere and true:
To community, wine, and cheer—
And to all of you who made our shop home,
This year and every year.