Old Grapevines

A sonnet

Photo by William J Spirdione

Old grapevines, winding thru under-story.
Long forgotten, no longer her desire
For mankind’s hand, only nature’s glory.
Reaching, as the canopy gets higher.

What horrors have twisted these ancient vines,
Or is it love, reaching up for the stars?
Wine, drunk in celebration, far outshines,
Lost human foibles, past written memoirs.

Ninety years after being so planted,
Sweet purple fruits hang from her in large drifts.
Vines are grasping, canopy enchanted,
The future deserves her abundant gifts.

Nature’s tenacious, humanity too,
Raise a glass to us all, no matter who.