It’s mid-winter at Mount Mary as I write this, though not so bleak as in Christina Rosetti’s poem of 1872. The first verse will forever be in my mind and I wrote it down here, edit free, without reference to Wikipedia or any other form of knowledge fast food. I was a keen chorister as a young man at boarding school and Christina’s incarnation poem was transformed into a hymn which featured every Christmas in our break-up service. I simply loved the song and to this day love all forms of melodic music. The poem later evolved into a very popular carol. But I digress! Interestingly, as Christina was penning this immortal piece, the Yarra was busying itself producing Cabernets that were up there with the best in the world. I wonder if she had a tipple to get the creative juices flowing?