The Vineyard

It was destined, from before time,

To end in the middle of a bottle of wine.

Sweet burnt umber in a vineyard,

Falcons overhead, tilting to our whispers.

Love, crisp, delicate, perfect, sweet;

Once in a lifetime, so gifted were we.

Heavy dark Syrah in the mist,

Tangled vines, and sweet grapes in our fists,

I can still hear our laughter echoing now,

And these years later, I still miss you somehow

But the candle burned low and the glasses ran out

And the roads from the vineyard took different paths.