A Toast

A Toast


Forgetfulness comes easily
the harbinger of increasing age
quiet of years grown full
and ripe
dropping from the vine

Her hand picked the fruit with delicate care
sampling the flavor
only to discard it for another

In shallow ditches the ripe and rotting fruit lay
hot sunshine--cool shade
fermentation rising on the breeze

A glass my friend
filled with comfort and good cheer
tinged with forgetfulness--

May you never find your vine wanting
of good fruit, or
any hands recklessly picking over the harvest