Those purple grapes in dappled green
Deep mauve yet Parma violet - lean
In wild profusion on the wall
And hold my gaze in wondrous thrall.
Some lie scattered on the tiles
Faded, dried in swirling piles
Sweet nature blooms but does not last
Their fragrance lingers as I pass.
Each petal, fragile, has its hour
Sometimes a breeze creates a shower
I marvel at this annual show
And mourn when all the petals go.
(c) Poet in the woods 2014