I pondered whether it was good or bad
that freedom had caught me and made me glad
remembering still our promises fine
talked we then in happier times
of aging harmonious, others acrimonious.
Who lament with both sorrow and torment
for promises made of comfort and content
under the delusion that marriage is fine wine:
for wine is soured if kept too late
or sweet and heady opened at the plate.
And as we were apart too long
bitterness replaced our sweet love song.
Yet still I hear what was meant to be
as if the vineyard is calling me
the tender grapes making their plea.
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