licquor pours across all floors
it is not possible to become
intoxicated today when
bota bag bleeds and seeps
its blood-red vintage while
weary herdsmen weep
and skin afresh, hanging
hircine hopes on kids
gathering yesterday’s grapes
for fresh pressing
remembering to decant
old with old, the new with new
and both willing the carver
with every bone in their bodies
to gouge with due caution
adhere with common sense
remember libation to providers
and secure for all, in celebration,
that the horn has plenty
I’m so glad to have started following your blog! You are wonderful. Absolutely loved this.
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Thank you so much! You’re too kind. I’m thrilled to bits. 🙂 x
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Reblogged this on Praying for Eyebrowz and commented:
Quickly becoming one of my favorite poets. Read more at scottishmomus.com.
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Loved this, I have read it several times now and get more out of it each time. 🙂
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Thanks, Daniel. I’m chuffed you read it more than once! 🙂
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I read it to understand the tradition and history within the description, Anne Marie. Very uniquely interesting!
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Thank you, Robin. And thanks for your visits on so many posts. I truly appreciate it.x
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