It's evident that life never stops. You can lie there at night, with the window down and hear its continuum. Trash trucks, squeaky breaks, the wind then to the leaves, leaves then to the vineyard.
From the earth works the root, from the root the vine and its growing pains of ache and struggle. Similar to the stimulation of man, it's Miss Mother Nature who coaxes out vinous fruit like an apple, impossible to resist. In bottle and behind cork, once again come whispers in message; there they remain until even after they're gone--rest then their souls. Death imitates life and how alive with death some things are. The hands of the maker split, hardened and sore, weathered by the world. Asking forgiveness, then healed. Giveth and taketh away, no word as to the reasons why. Sacrificial acre dust scattered about the land and its expanses; touched by life, sweat, blood and tears.
A drizzle soon to a saturation, this misting an emotional miracle--nurturing the neglected. Cyclical not, predictable no, foreseeable so, rain once again. Too much, too little, just right, night sets in, the moon, the stars, the planets, the abyss. A wonder what it would be if no one noticed. Exists however its presence, listen to it and learn, wisdom awaits in your glass, open your window.
From the earth works the root, from the root the vine and its growing pains of ache and struggle. Similar to the stimulation of man, it's Miss Mother Nature who coaxes out vinous fruit like an apple, impossible to resist. In bottle and behind cork, once again come whispers in message; there they remain until even after they're gone--rest then their souls. Death imitates life and how alive with death some things are. The hands of the maker split, hardened and sore, weathered by the world. Asking forgiveness, then healed. Giveth and taketh away, no word as to the reasons why. Sacrificial acre dust scattered about the land and its expanses; touched by life, sweat, blood and tears.
A drizzle soon to a saturation, this misting an emotional miracle--nurturing the neglected. Cyclical not, predictable no, foreseeable so, rain once again. Too much, too little, just right, night sets in, the moon, the stars, the planets, the abyss. A wonder what it would be if no one noticed. Exists however its presence, listen to it and learn, wisdom awaits in your glass, open your window.
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