Cornbread and Scuppernong Wine
The rays of the autumn moon rise on the horizon, winter is not far off.
The light of the day has been gone for hours and all that remains is night, and the smell of food in the oven.
Each sip of the Scuppernong wine is warm to the touch, inside your lips and inside your soul. The sweet taste that lingers, long after the golden sun set, and the honey moon peeks its eyes over the wooded hillside.
Thoughts float in the waters of your mind, taking you back to a time, when sweet wine lingered long on summer days.
With an innocence not quite lost, and the love that was not quite gained.
Memories fill you, like a walk by the creek, with honey suckle kisses and raspberry dreams. The lightning bugs dancing around you, listening to the music of your heart, and the rhythm of your eyes.
Nothing fills those autumn days, like a pan of cornbread and Scuppernong wine, and memories that last, long past, the sweetness of that time.
Written By Bryan Coltrane
With an innocence not quite lost, and the love that was not quite gained.
Memories fill you, like a walk by the creek, with honey suckle kisses and raspberry dreams. The lightning bugs dancing around you, listening to the music of your heart, and the rhythm of your eyes.
Nothing fills those autumn days, like a pan of cornbread and Scuppernong wine, and memories that last, long past, the sweetness of that time.
Written By Bryan Coltrane
Posted 07/22/12
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