Wine from the Riverine

Every year in September,
When the world is fresh and clean,
Anonymously there comes to me
A bottle of wine from the Riverine;

Sent by an old-age pensioner,
Who isn't to say the name;
And every year in September
I want that wine the same.

It might be a lady that sends it,
Or one of the Might-Have-Been,
Or a girl that reads. . . . But I'm thankful here
For that wine from the Riverine.
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