Ode to Grapes
Hollyn. Age 16. Whitefish, Montana
Originally published in June 2007
                      They come in groups
or in a pair,
They come in colors
Oh so fair

Just a seed,
Meant to be,
Eventually,
To feed.

Soon they grow,
Without a woe,
Then send to go
To a home

Oh so moist
We rejoice
But then they dry
And we cry

Shrivelled and discarded,
They are disregarded
Without a home
All alone

Itís only a raisin
So into a basin
To soak
So the eaters donít choke

Once a grape
Now a raisin
No escape
From the grazin'.
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ISSN 1703-3020

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