The Vineyard Poem by Michael Gorham

There they are such as grapes of wrath.
Diverged only by a dusty path.

Vines bewildered in an ongoing spiral.
Their smell be sweet so far from vile.

Row after row everlasting.
Each row go further... further surpassing.

All of them green beaming with life.
Taking forever soon they be ripe.

People move fast in the world today.
Never once stopping... stopping to play.

I sit in my vinyard.
I sit here all day.
All of my time i use to play.
Here it is... what i have to say.

Slow down find your ground.
Stop just for once you'll find your vinyard one day.