Grapes

Grandfather was so courtly, wise and calm: At times a sweet old wordling, dealing balm Through business phrase or words of ancient psalm, Justice and whimsical kindliness to all. As he watched mankind, so in early Fall, He watched his grape-vines on the stable wall. In old Quebec the season is too brief To ripen grapes well ... sometimes scarlet leaf Becomes a herald swift beyond belief. The few big clusters with pale purple bloom So slowly deepening, often met their doom When rich October caught November’s gloom. He never lost his interest ... every Fall He saw his grape-vines as he’d dreamed them, all Weighed down with purple riches, growing tall Over the stable windows. On the way To the rose garden where he walked each day ... “These grapes are riper than last year” he’d say. In spite of all the travelling he’d done He sought no changes now and thought “no sun Could be much brighter than a Canadian one!” Yet I knew well his grapes brought visions fair Of mellow summer lands with temperate air. “Grapes are like men--can’t ripen everywhere.... Men all need sun, and right loam I suppose; But if one strikes deep roots ... as a rule ... he grows!” He smiled his smile and cut a late white rose.