Mark Heathcote

Silver Star - 3,535 Points (22/03/66 / Manchester)

A swill of the devils brews Poem by Mark Heathcote


Fingers fret and linger on the vine
Music's a tabled wine, ready to drink.
Whatever the reason, cause it's divine
When; I drink a cup or two, with you.

Lips may hanker for the fruit of dreams
A swill of the devils brews can lower you
To your knees in all kinds of blasphemes.
Harp player, you're an angel, sometimes.

When fingers fret and linger on the vine
And the music it's just mine and yours.
Whatever the reason, cause it's divine
When; I drink a cup of maturing wine.

Submitted: Monday, July 14, 2014
Edited: Monday, July 14, 2014

Topic of this poem: poem


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