Your soul trades
in peacetime coins
in rural
comfort blankets.
Your stomach
feels the touches
of trees made
in Georgian times
to line paths
with screens of green.
Your brain stops
the seed crushing
and genes start
motors, switching
on flowers,
turning off dregs.
Your heart feels
the new proteins
that control
the wine-making
in your mind
and your tastebuds.
Saps overcome
with pleasing casts
in your plays
that ferment grapes
and place yeast
in neat bottles.
Your soul trades
in peacetime coins
in rural
comfort blankets.
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