Fruit of the gods!
(and Of The Loom)
(balls we cradle)
When in full bloom.
Grapes they call us,
Juicy and expensive,
Our ability to take on new forms,
Is rather extensive.
Wine, bitch,
Parents need to us live,
So much fermentation,
We’re ready to give.
Don’t forget about raisins,
Dry, shriveled, and smelly,
But we make under-appreciated cookies,
To put in your belly.
Purple, green, or red,
Seedless or sliced,
The Catholics needs us,
To drink the blood of Christ.
And don’t forget about our leaves,
Dolma is the shit,
So much goodness we give,
And you can never quit.
Gray Winsler 