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!

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