#347-M&M
13/07/2018
A small piece of heaven…
Arid.
Hot.
Silent.
Yet grapes continue to grow,
From vines we planted,
Years ago.
And when I sip the wine,
I imagine the days we toiled,
Picking grapes,
Laughing, playing.
Time has passed,
But the taste of their fingertips linger.
Yes, those innocent,
Small fingers.
