On this fine eve, dear Sarah turns thirty-six, Laughter swirls 'round like autumn leaves in a fix. Ruby-red wine fills the glass, rich as a dream, While in plates, Szechuan spices dance and steam. In such moments of joy, where time kindly lingers, We raise a toast, our glasses clink with soft fingers. Here's to the laughter that wine and life define, To the feast, the love, and joyously aged wine.