How sad is that...but true.

How sad is that...but true.

I am corked wine

So much flavour gone to waste

Grapes taken from the vine

Too soon

Left in the sun too long

Withered and dry

I am an old dog

Let me die

With my head on a pillow

Who knows between one

Day and the next

When the time is right

To decide

What to do

If you leave them

To lie in the sun

Tomatoes will ripen

On a window sill

How will I know

If you are waiting still

When the day has passed

Darkness comes

There are shadows

Deeper than midnight

Where the tall trees stand

Whispering secrets

Only they know

I spilled the wine

The stain spreading wide

Across the white cloth

I remember roses

Counting them one by one

Embittered thorns

Embedded in memories

Blood drips down

Onto the table

A sour taste of grapes

Salting lips

That once were kissed

With sweetness

The wind sighs

As the willow cries

Whilst a nightingale sings

The high notes

In isolation.