A friend found this vintage bottle of Champagne.
Holidays are gathering times,
Alive with talk and food,
Perhaps a social chore that is
Perhaps for one's own good.
Yearning is ubiquitous;
Home the buried treasure.
On holidays, the moment comes
Like unexpected pleasure.
Inside the labyrinth are words,
Deeper far than things,
Attached to what, once recognized,
Yields songs the moment sings,
So sweet the world has wings.
