The Port Glass.
8/22/2011 9:30:06 PM
No fingerprints, no grease marks, no smeared white lines
Its clarity, crystal clear
A remnant from an age gone by, that proves that you were here.
And I know it’s just a glass for wine, but the hands that held it once held mine
And your mouth would once have kissed its rim
Sipping port, its warmth within,
And if I touch it now, what will I feel? A tangible spark, something real?
I pray reflections in this glass will show me something of my past.
I’ll hold it gently, around the stem
I’ll treat it like a long lost friend
I’ll keep it safe and from time to time
I will replenish it with wine
And drink to you, whom I held dear.
A crystal glass – proof you were here.