OEnomancy

In ancient times, so long ago, A divination art did grow. Oinomancy, its name so grand, Examining wine, patterns in hand. A Bacchante, priestess fair and wise, With Bacchus' blessing, she'd surmise. Spilling wine on cloth or paper, Studying stains, like a secret caper. Cloth soaked in wine, or boiled with care, Revealing secrets in patterns rare. The material's appearance, oh so fine, Unveiling messages, like a hidden sign. A libation poured, a sacred rite, The wine's flow, a mystical sight. Watching closely, the pouring stream, Unveiling secrets, like a wondrous dream. In the glass or bottle, sediment lies, A treasure trove, to the seeker's eyes. Examining its depths, with curious glee, Discovering mysteries, for all to see. So let us marvel at wine's enchanting dance, And the magic of oinomancy's trance. For in every sip, in every pour, A world of wonders, forevermore. Random page: Psalm 125