Bill's Ballad
There is a bottle of dry white wine
cold and floating in a spring.
It dangles from a hempen vine:
a tug will reel it in.
My life is wispy as a cloud
whose aimless paths I follow.
I might stray from bubbly springs
but now I want a swallow.
Within a grove of cherry trees,
a basket waits for me
It holds fresh bread and soft white cheese
and the wine I drink with thee.
Mary L. Westcott
Holiday Party
The chemistry of creativity in the flesh
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