I still can taste the Chardonnay fine wines—
The hints of oak we drank at lunch today.
The sun must brightly shine upon those vines;
Warm love in liquid gold its rays display.
Yet heavy is my heart and grief will weigh
Too soon enough for pure enjoyment now;
I know my eyes and spirit can betray
Another thought emotions must allow.
My body furrows its own empty brow.
You look upon my soul with fulgent grace,
But I cannot my love soon disavow;
I glance upon your form and see his face.
He does not care that I must love him still—
Would that my mind could break my stubborn will!
Copyright © Alvin Thomas Ethington