To my mother on earth,
and to hers in the clouds:
You are fine wine.
Fine wine, fine wine.
You aged like fine wine.
From bud to blossom,
The drink of the vine,
You aged like fine wine.
Do not be tricked,
The skins of fine wine
are never new,
They are wrinkled
and blemished,
But inside is liquid gold.
And why should there be
a mold to hold you back
If you were meant
to change anyways?
With her skin she grows old:
Bloomed by the sun
of her youth,
Ripened from the years,
Skins stretched by maternity,
Fine wine, aren’t you beautiful
Fine wine, that’s what you are,
And I’ve always seen you
that way
And I’ve always seen you
as beautiful,
Because you taught me
what it meant
And I’d always believe
what you’d say.
You taught me that beautiful
Was a word that belonged
to God
And everything he made.
And He most definitely
made you
Beauty that not only
gets better with age.
You are the drink of the gods,
And the gods love your wine
That when you must leave us,
I’ll understand why.
I’ll stare at a chalice of fine wine
And I’ll know you’re with God
And he’s pouring you a glass,
So go ahead, drink and dine:
Enjoy that glass
Of fine wine.
I know why you had to leave,
Because your wine is too sweet,
So God took away your cup
Or I might get too tipsy
Of your fine wine.
Fine wine, fine wine,
I’ll miss your fine wine
So on that day
that we meet again,
I hope that I had
lived long enough
To make you proud
of my own wine.
That I had aged as well
as you did
That I am a fruit from your vine.
On the day that we meet again,
Let’s raise our cups,
Let’s laugh and smile,
Let’s have a glass
Of your fine wine.
(The poem by 15-year-old Arianna Yu won The Emily Dickenson Award during the Calliope Night of Paref Southcrest School Inc. on Nov. 16, 2018.)