To the groom I grill: Choice wine is not for guests who had their fill, Why then is Cana intoxicated in the night chill? (No answer comes but a silly giggle)
To the banquet master I wonder: Who changed the serving etiquette here? A miracle in the cup for all to cheer? (Morning breeze or evening rain, this stuff is without a peer)
To Mary I draw near: With or without wine, why’d you care? Asking for his help, a whisper is your silent prayer (In answering it, His Grace is abundantly clear)
To the servants I incline: Water to wine, “only you” witnessed the sign so divine? Rushed to the master, intoxicating guests with an aroma so fine? (Surely, you tasted it ahead of the line)
To Jesus my voice quivering and low: Wuliangye, Moutai and 1842 Château de Bordeaux, Who can name a drink as precious as the one we know? On the altar you lay yourself, and pour out an offering with Cana’s flow
All who drink of your cup agree, The most aromatic and priceless gift is free