Travelling roads through nothing
But grapevines, might be thought
Boring and dull, but right now
For the first time all Summer
We can see the grapes dark and full
Hanging ready for harvesting.
It must be a strange existence
Feeling yourself grow and bloom
But knowing your free will is gone
And there is no other ending
To your life than to be crushed
And squeezed, bled for your juice,
When you could have grown old
Naturally and become a wrinkled
But still valued juicy raisin.



© Griffonner 2024