Her Wine

Rain. Water-grapes for gaping mouth
Of she, not young, not old;
Drinking, stamping on the grapes,
Splashing, laughing, bold.
She twirls around to catch the grapes
On forehead, nose and cheeks,
And on the tongue between her lips
Where gushing laughter peaks.
Oh, if I could paint a picture rare
Of light-of-life so fine,
I think I’d capture she right there
Who makes the world her wine!

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s