Dad danced
In the vineyards amongst the vines
With bitter grapes
Before the stomping
With calloused feet
I knew I couldn’t follow
Father always had a dead beat
To his routine of time spent
Most grapes withered on the vine
But I’ve aged after the stomping
With my own grapes
Ripening organic hearts
We dance amongst the vines
With the sweetest heart beats
Our time spent always present
Always new