Champagne
We have scarce put our lips
to a drink of sparkle,
through years of wishes that
fizzed, only to fizzle.
No cork missile has exclaimed
into our ceiling’s muted white,
trailing bottled-up yearnings
a triumph has given flight.
Rarely has a foam-clad genie
danced high with a splash of hair,
sprung by a sudden silver lining
from her golden-necked lair.
But why should we not toast
so many years of quiet bliss,
anoint so much unsung labor
with the frisky nectar’s kiss?
Why should our small victories
not be awash in shiny amber,
when we’ve held fast to purpose
against darkest days’ temper?
Why, my dear, do we mourn
lost plots of grander scope,
but not raise high the twinkles
to the courage of saner hope?
Before this life we’ve shared
joins yesterday’s relics,
let’s drink till we’re tipsy to
our ordinary heroics.
Copyright © Bernard Chan | Year Posted 2020
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