Summer Wine
The Last of the Summer Wine
The field of straw is white
in the summer glare,
and ringed by deep green vines
its fruit is still embryonic,
June is too early for them,
not before end of July will they be juice,
red and ready to be turned into wine,
a dark bottle with a fancy label
and it will be
said 2114 was a good year for wine,
before world war three began.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
