Vintage - Poem by Connie Yost
Once upon an afternoon, Farmer Good did relish wines,
Toiling then, to plant and prune, at least a dozen sturdy vines.
Madam craved some jam of plum, to compliment their home made bread.
Planting these he cured the glum, and watered well twelve trees for fruits of red.
Well, seasons came and seasons passed, all their trees and vines did grow.
Jam of plum enjoyed at last, and juice of grape did often flow.
Husky vines then learned the trick of climbing in the trees.
Fruity summer branches thick, became the coolest canopy of greens.
Far away from time and sky, sneek the carefree barefoot snackers,
Only seen by sparrow's eye, and paper bags of peanut butter crackers.
Games with giant swinging apes, and savage jungle beast.
Knowing all the quick escapes, denying them their tender feast.
And wistful moments found them, oft' times lying on their backs,
The wonder that surrounds them, any lesser jungle lacks.
Well, August plums were ripe and red, all the robins had been fed.
Cellar shelves held jars of magic fruits, next to bins of secret garden roots.
Frosty mornings woke the grapes, Good folks heaped their wooden crates,
Love and laughter, family traits, some have reached the pearly gates.
Woolen sweaters chased the chill, the rest of us remember still,
How they did their honest best to always do God's holy will.
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