POETRY

The Vineyard

A poem

A million fields fade from green to gray Soil plowed, planted, and burned Long nights fold into shortened days years of trailing vines that twist and turn

The soil was tilled. The seeds were sown Seedlings into vineyards grown Grapes bloomed upon the vines to be harvested into wine poured into glasses and consumed drank by the light of the moon

More days, more vineyards planted Inebriant beliefs, later recanted Days flowed as freely as wine until they poured through all the sands of time

Thank you for reading. Thank you to the editors of ILLUMINATION for giving this poem a home.

Mia Verita, 2021