Tipped Glass. Poem by Stephen S. Yeandle

It would be a vintage year of consequence;
a time of heartfelt contract.

Promises, beguiling spells;
incantations on anxious breath.

Harvesting in autumns
yellow light,
amidst the falling leaves,
the generosity of spring and summer dreams.

A time to be remembered.

Incubating unbeknown,
borne on winters penetrating wind;
came infidelity.

A willing suspension of grief
and
disbelief,
my thoughts return
to spring.

Right the glass that overturned
and fill it back with
wine...