
Decanting a Poem
The poet selects a bottle
from the cellar,
ponders the label,
wipes away the dust,
nods and smiles,
if it pleases,
sits down in that chair,
in that place,
slips the cork
from the bottle,
decants
the brew,
letting it breathe
some words evaporate
some dance and rearrange
some stay to play,
the poem morphs once more.
_____________________________________________
Note: a repost
Writing does seem that way some days…enjoyed this much!
thanks Charles 😀
Lovely, Gabrielle.
cheers Helen 😀
love your reposts, gie me a chance to savour them once more 🙂 cheers!
I’m glad that’s the case Ben 🙂 always feel like I’m cheating when I do a repost – hahaha – but I have many new subscribers who haven’t seen the old stuff so I figure why not
give not gie!!!
🙂
I really like that idea of the poam as a fine wine just waiting to be savoured
thanks Juliet – sometimes it’s fine wine, sometimes we just have some cheap plonk that got put in the cold room by accident 😉
One of my favourites 😃
thanks bb 😀 you’re too sweet