No. No. I will not serve the mad rush to be not yourself. Why do you rush so? Remember who you are. From that amber bottle is neither trist nor chance but seven years of toil and grace.Through storm and heat did these trees flourish. From tiny petals laced with dignity sprang ruby cherries bright and tempting. Calloused fingers long and strong gathered, plod, and trudged to gather them. In the sun did these cherries wait. They basked in solar ecstasy till just that moment. Then they shed their skins and basked in comfort. All this while did tall cane grow as clouds stormed and parted tickling their tops. Cut down, squeezed, husks sent away, left a juice sweet and sweeter stilled unto perfection. At last these two disparate aged joined into that humble, bottle brown and plain. A force flowing with dignified delights. Hasten not this elixir, but savor seven years of toil and care. The moment will be fleet. Cherrish and remember as you salute each moment of your breath.