top of page

Douro - River of Wine

Fingerprints upon the land
From Roman times to modern hand
Are terraces on every hill
Carved by Man - remaining still -
Here sturdy plants on foreign stock
Drive thrusting roots down through the rock
Seeking moisture 'neath their feet
Warmed through nights by days of heat
In Douro valleys distant vines
Producing grapes for special wines
Await the harvest of their fruit
By those who choose this hard pursuit
In granite tanks the bare warm toes
Extract the juice and out it flows
To casks of oak and there mature
'Fore bringing forth a liquid pure
British names of famous brands
Have taken port to foreign lands
And now the world is left in thrall
To this fine drink of Portugal



bottom of page