The Whiskey Taster’s Flavor Guide

The Grapes In Season

There is a vine, it is called the vine of life and death.
It is an ancient vine, planted and tended long ago.
The regular trimming leaves a shape like little crosses.
As the ethereal spirit permeates along the living vine.
Though the sign says, "nowhere", the journey produces.
That which withers and dies are subsequently pared away.
For then the fruit is fertile and the wine made is sublime.
And then the process is resurrected over and over again.

3/11/21
Copyright © | Year Posted 2021

Poem

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

Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
The Whiskey Taster’s Flavor Guide
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace