ROSÉ-COLOURED GLASSES

Harry Ord

Blissful summer sun
Love ripe with the juices of the untold
Ready for harvesting
Flowing fields and picnic baskets
Containing the fruits of my labour
Boards of complex complementaries
Forging a bouquet unparallelled

Nights become longer
The vine’s growth halts
Never blossoming like the other fruits
Spices of life temper your palette
While the sunsets fade away

We were a fine wine pressed with sour grapes
Agony, with hints of sage
Evergreen
Drunk on missed opportunities of what could be
And what never was.