Peasant Vintner

Nowhere to be seen

Nowhere to be heard

Tucked away safely

Elsewhere offered safety

The wine is not ready

Though I stand with hammer steady

Sunspots from head glistening

Eager to strike cask

That savored be its wave crimson

Daring produce a standard

Though just a peasant

Which aspires to trained palette pleasant

 

That you might let yourself be found

That you might let yourself be found

 

Did you hear of the peasant who dared

Produce fruit of the vine of a master?

It turned out to be a disaster

Peasant am I, unable to produce good wine

Though I find no good reason

To postpone the miracle 

For a more favorable season

Eagerly my feet undress

Happily stomping to prepare the most noble of elixirs

Ever to be held by full spectrum

 

That you might let yourself be found

That you might let yourself be found

-2012.07.16 

wine

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