If it doesn’t work out,
If I don’t get to have her
In my life,
I will save myself from despair;
I will go to the grape vine,
Find some grapes out of reach.
I’ll tell myself lies to ease my pain:
“It would have never worked out.
She’s too young for me.”
If she is taken from me by another,
Or if she is taken from me by fate,
I’ll cherish what time we had;
I’ll make sweeter still, and keep near,
My fond memories of hands and heart;
The low-hanging fruit: I’ll recall the butterflies.
If she is taken from me by fate,
Or if she is taken from me by another,
I’ll soothe my heart trying to harvest sour grapes.
©2016 H.K. Longmore