Our Tune.

 

 

Our Tune.

 

The loud tick of my pine-clock slowed
as I sipped old wine,
remembering the fun of raiding hedgerows
and carrying home
bags which dripped spots of summer
from scarlet-ripe fruits
*
*
spurting long before being crushed into
juice as I gently,
like a good midwife, tried birthing with
coddle a new honey brew
and bottled in well-stirred batches
brown blackberry looseness
*
*
which labelled and dated I surveyed
very proudly before
storing my babies in cellared cool where
half forgotten they
stood dutifully burping before garishly
aging to fully mature.
*
*
Now with desperation on near horizon
I had to try one
when fermented chatter quieter grown
whispered its magic,
reviving past honey-mooned kisses
of happy recalled allure
*
*
as berry-stained hands linked mem'ry's
laughter while dipping
together we mixed crimson slurry in               
sip-stolen unhurry
before time took you and left me with
only war-widowed gloom 
*
*
yet now drinking this sparkling glass
of clear nectar I toast
in ready nostalgia sediment's potent
result while listening intently
to alchemy's music of wine-effluence
still striving to sing our tune.

 

Reviews

[Neville]

... I know I have said it before, but ... it would be all too easy to drink far too deeply .. and all too quickly become absorbed and intoxicated by these most extraordinarily fine words dear lady Fay ...... this is surely my newest Fay vour write .. Fay Slimm write to date and truly ... Neville

[Fay Slimm]

Big thank yous my luverly friend................x