And out of the sombre light  

A quiet entrance he makes—  

A poet in whom life is not so much delight  

As it is the unfolding of self amid the pain.

With quill in hand and heart laid bare,  

He weaves his words with tender care.  

Through verses deep and sorrow's strain,  

He seeks the truths that few attain.

In shadows cast by life's cruel hand,  

He finds the strength to firmly stand.  

His poetry, a vessel true,  

Of life’s complexities in view.

For Ashleigh, each line, a soul's lament,  

A reflection of emotions spent.  

Yet within his melancholy's grasp,  

A spark of hope he dares to clasp.

Through written word, he seeks to mend,  

The fractured heart, the broken friend.  

A poet's journey, fraught and bold,  

In every tale, his verses hold.

Much like Riesling’s varied grace,  

From dry to sweet, he finds his place.  

A balance of sharp and soft delight,  

In poetry's dance, both day and night.

Riesling's notes of fruit and bloom,  

Mirror Ashleigh’s words that gently loom.  

Each poem a sip, a taste of soul,  

Unfolding truths, making the self whole.

In the quiet moments of the vine,  

Where complexity and purity entwine,  

Ashleigh’s strength, like Riesling’s blend,  

Shows resilience until the very end.

So in the sombre light he stays,  

His quiet voice a guiding blaze.  

John Ashleigh, with a heart so wide,  

In poetry’s truths will abide.