It hardly seems a day has passed,
when berries ripened on the vine;
The sunshine came in mystic flair,
while we poured out the finest wine.

During our celebration we sang,
of the past and present joys;
Although our feast was jubilant,
today it seemed more like noise.

Neighbors and friends toasted the vines,
which put forth the sweetest grapes;
Then the sky turned dark and stormy,
with a cloudburst in our wake.

Heads pounding from the thunder sent,
to arouse our deep suspicions;
Of phantoms scouring our timely event,
bringing mystery and mass confusion.

My body shook with jolts of lightning,
my face feverish from the heat;
The wine was captured by the wraiths,
which had envied this glorious meeting.

As children we often read fairy tales,
those lovely stories to ease our minds;
But now the days are like the mist,
which still cover the purple vines.