A glass of poetry

I’m tasting a poem as a glass full of wine,

the Chateau, beautifully labelled on top

is full of promises, maybe sunshine or a flop,

still there can be a suspicion or a silent sign.

To open the bottle with the first quatrain

you already smell the scent of his bouquet,

is it about red or white, the words will say

if it’s vinegar stuff, you’ll read it in vain.

There has to be an aftertaste, heavy or fine

its character, dark, handsome or full of mystery

tercets with a lesson or ending with a cute line

a few glasses a day keeps me fit without misery

maybe one more, I do believe it’s so benign

although some say, it’s the start of a poet’s insanity.

© Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere

18/05/2015