The winemaker's season begins with a crush
And bountiful harvests of grapes,
Machinery turning the fruitage to mush,
The barrels removed from their capes.
The vintage assured in a very fine year,
When weather and timing agree,
The soil is tested, its chemistry clear
Of all microscopic debris.
The grapevines are withered, succumbing to cold,
Their branches are barren and dry,
Devout revolution as seasons unfold,
Deplete and replenish supply.
A winemaker's hope is unswerving and true,
Despite a poor yield professed,
The master fermenter's best values accrue
When wines of the past are assessed.
Aware of sensation upon the first taste,
The cordial libations perceived,
These blended elixirs are fully embraced
For tender emotions achieved.
With fleeting fulfillment of palate success,
The trust of the vintner still weighs,
They cultivate art of sommeliers finesse,
Explaining the winemaker's gaze.
Jack has published over 350 poems in his career, many with his own photography. He specializes in a view of the commonplace and Americana.