A Basket Of Grapes


Like the prized grapes of the vineyard,
I carefully picked the gems of my soul.
Cherished, every one, I placed them gently
into a basket of gold and offered them to him.
Like rubies, they sparkled, blood red,
as if filled with my own vital juices.

Diligently I tried to care for them,
gathering the strays to avoid the bruises,
hiding the minor blemishes from view.
But as he kept the basket sheltered from the sun,
their hidden wounds festered on my soul
and began to weep through the seams.

In my mind, I envisioned the fresh picked fruit,
how vibrant and full of life it had been
compared to the dull and somber heap it had become.
With dwindling hope,  I searched deep within
and tried to segregate the spoiled fruit,
rinse them with fresh water, warmed by a new sun.

In so doing, inadvertently I found, 
that when a soul is given a reason to hope,
even grapes that seem to have lost their luster
and bear the marks of a life sequestered in a basket,
when placed in the hands of the right winemaker
can still make the sweetest of wines!




		december 2002





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