abi

Glinting warm purple in the bright Tuscan sun,
the sweet, swelling grapes hang in line.
Taut, ripened fruit in the hot afternoon
'round thick wooden vines twist and twine.

Whispers of wine float in the thick breeze
as the round, ruby globes glow and bob.
Resting orbs swing and sway at the end of the day
and beneath green, leafy covers they nod.

The older fruit holds a soft shadow of spring,
their baking skins shrivel and shrink.
The newly-formed buds, tough and small with new form
come to life in bright green and soft pink.

Sweet juices drip down as split sides seep,
in the air filled with buzzing of bees.
Tiny thuds fill the grove as the birds pick their prize
and the grapes sing their songs to the breeze.