A Crust of Bread and a Glass of Wine

By Robert Amoroso

A crust of bread and a glass of wine,

reminds me fondly of another time.

A time recalled of tender care-from a

wrinkled brow and snow white hair.

Of long summer days, under a roof of vines

as grandpa sat with a glass of wine and spoke

of worlds he left behind telling tales and nursery

rhymes.

He would tend his garden everyday, as I would

romp around and play, behind the tomato plants

I’d hide, as grandpa looked for me inside.

Quiet as a mouse I’d try to be, as I quickly scampered

behind a tree, and grandpa pretended not to see.

In the “language of love” he spoke to me, as I

quickly learned by A, B, C’s.

And as the morning turned to noon, grandpa knew

that he would soon sit and rest under his grape filled

vines with a crust of bread and a glass of wine.

And mom would pack a lunch for me,

and I would sit upon his knee, and sip

his wine, and he’d pretend not to see.

Grandpa now is gone from me,

and I no longer hide behind the tree, but

when I sip a little wine, I travel back to that

place in time…to those warm summer days,

and a roof of vines and fondly recall

a crust of bread and a glass of wine.

Copyright 2009 Robert Amoroso