(Truth is in the wine)

The wine is spilled–
The truth is in the blood.
I hear it spoken in my mother’s voice.
I hear it whispered in the whir of wind
That licks the hills.
“This was your father’s choice.”
With eyes no longer clouded I can see.
With trembling hands, the chalice I receive.
Though dark would tear the very heart from me
Light can be mine, as long as I believe.

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