To Wait for Wine

He steals grapes from my vineyard,
A bird not the same color
Yet always the same.
Just when they've grown to ripeness,
Juicy and plump on the vine;
A violent purple absorbing sun,
The bird comes to snatch it away.

He guilts me with his hunger
As he tries to thieve my fruit.
So I question my resilience,
Perhaps he needs this more than I.
But it's not about survival
It his gluttony that drives
when he flies over my vineyard
So to red his beak with lust.

Yet this bird, he is persistent,
In his gathering of my crop.
He gorges while I wait
to turn the grapes to wine.
I'll ferment them in oak barrels
as they soak in patience and passion.
But I must pick before the frost.