Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #10
When Grandpa Worked In Vineyards
by Belinda Roddie
When Grandpa worked in vineyards, I wanted
to work beside him in the scenery
and in the cellars, clipped red hair, a brown
pressed tunic to complement greenery.
The wine my grandpa made was sweet and I
enjoyed each sip even when I was young.
Beer never suited me, nor bourbon, so
I let light flavors dance atop my tongue.
Then Grandpa died, and he gave my brother
and me the vineyards to do as we pleased,
and while my brother worked out in the fields,
he thought the fancy job belonged to me.
But every so often, I'll go and toil
in muddy jeans upon my grandpa's soil.
by Belinda Roddie
When Grandpa worked in vineyards, I wanted
to work beside him in the scenery
and in the cellars, clipped red hair, a brown
pressed tunic to complement greenery.
The wine my grandpa made was sweet and I
enjoyed each sip even when I was young.
Beer never suited me, nor bourbon, so
I let light flavors dance atop my tongue.
Then Grandpa died, and he gave my brother
and me the vineyards to do as we pleased,
and while my brother worked out in the fields,
he thought the fancy job belonged to me.
But every so often, I'll go and toil
in muddy jeans upon my grandpa's soil.
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