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Rose Donaldson

Bringing in the Vines

The early morning haze beckons the throng from slumber

The blue hued vines await and loll in readiness to drop

Gravel crunches under the feet of those who will share the toil

Baskets lined up along the rows while gloves pulled on and sharp props at the ready.


Vine virgins hesitate with nervous glances as experience cuts through

Pulling back the branches reveals the juice laden triangle of berries

Snip, drop, catch and throw a system learnt and a rhythm continued

As brows are mopped in the rising sun drinks are proffered.


Baskets are filled, renewed and topped up to be taken across fields

The vines are now empty, been checked by the expert who rebuffs those sun singed grapes

As the final baskets are loaded ,chatter , laughter and relief welcomes the rain

Drops cool and soothe the redness and heat on the sun parched necks.


Their labour much appreciated needs celebrated and thanked

The food and drink spread like a feast for the masses

No morsel left untouched, gratitude understood as the table empties

Promises given for favours, help and sustenance returned.



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