If I am doomed to never taste your lips;
young, anxious grape, eager for the wine
though intoxicated by your swaying hips
I will not take you early from the vine.
I patiently await the vintage of your age;
full ripened fruit insures the bottle's worth,
than to prematurely place you in that cage
though your textured curves instill a sudden thirst.
Rather, I would count the grains of sand
content to watch you sleep away the sun
then have you fall ready in my hand
until at last your harvest has begun.
Gently I would press your flavor loose,
wherein lays the essence of your tears,
and taste the sweetness of your juice
savoring that memory throughout the years!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Excellent Captain 1600 born death all know now will only after the occurrence will announce ere upon me u pounce I let ye savour the wine which has to yet change form off the vine and when she says be mine feel her under as does you Divine and for the next few centuries love labour and ports refine drinking all kinds of different wines preferably red as is mine
A beautiful comment dear Poet Poet! Does honor the captain and the wine and holds in view his tender grape that draws her power from the vine on rolling hills of tree lined grace.