by Christine K. Hnat
Oh, gastronomical bliss,
That once I enjoyed only during the Eucharist.
You cause me to ponder, oh Dark Berry.
Should your roots have embraced promised land,
Your flowers bloomed in the gardens of prophets,
Had your juice been squeezed to quench the thirst of disciples,
Perhaps then, as we drink and remember,
That divine juice would be of thine
And not the vine.
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