Want to sip, but I must wait. Season start, trust fate.
Strolling in the picturesque, winter’s left. Standing in sun; the luminary and green, in one.
Continuous photographs in this natural math.
Mystery in this scene, coupled with poetry, lines burst.
Others can respond, but I’m first. With wine my mind works. Rhymes thirst for a signed verse,
propelled by what the soil belled. Like an oil well,
to me. Stare at the stills, impaired by the thrills, but
beneficially when it’s giving me morsels of time,
scores of Divine elements and attributes; I fell into
a bath of truth, realization before the grapes.
Concentration, I need to stay, walk around. I stop
to now appreciate, delightfully deviate, delineate.
Next week, progress, more observed. Bud Break’s lore, deserved.
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