CHAUCER’S WINE
It was a sweet privilege,
To sink down that hearty meal,
To savour the tears of a full rose,
Aromas awakened me,
Like a clapper rings its bell,
Taste clinging, in tinctures of glass,
Sparkling on rock and scattered,
Forming streams in filigree
At court,
gathered ‘neath a canopy,
Summer light glints over gold downs,
Flocks assemble on green fields for feed,
All wait in silence while breath sways
reeds,
My King rises in opulent robe,
Bearing stars of wars and wise arrows,
‘Let us hear it’, he commands, voice
pealing,
I find a note and brave the King’s
ear,
Whistling a tooth while owls listen,
Chirping fowls join and flutter in
versed preludes,
To accompany my tears with legs in full
note,
He hears, happy through his rotted smile
My
words seem to echo and fly,
Clouds rush to gather and appoint their angels,
Light shimmers through, this moment is mine,
He rewarded me with riches,
Juices of sweetness to savour,
That balmed my heart as purely as maid song,
Drew out the flaps of love and flew,
Gay and free across endlessness
Now I see aging in threadbare wires,
Bells no longer, brume all around,
Hills crested with tinges of a bleeding cup,
Herald the coming of the final pause,
When the knell calls and pink hands pale,
And these hands will lose their touch of blood,
Red-chested robins on snowed leaves
tell,
Of wondrous innocence still and small,
All such things must one day end,
Then start again, I start again in you,
I gather wood with dear friends
knowing,
These are the last days of knights and maids,
I remain poor and find my bier here,
Yet I regret not as I cling meek,
You gave me life, I drank it down full
