118 and Vineyard

It’s gone
Whatever was growing
Now just broken vines
Grapes, I say
This is a vineyard
You see the rows, right?
People would come by
Trim their product
Drop into a basket
Something he would never have
Gone and never his
But he likes the thought
Even though it’s not even a memory
A pleasant dream
Another man’s reality
I never got to taste it
Yes, I know
Or hold it
Or share it
I say it’s just wine
We can get something else
He wanted this!
Something in photographs
And another man’s poems
You didn’t lose anything