We had taken our girls,
Quite young,
To see the town
Of their grandfather’s growing up,
Leafy Victorian homes
On brick streets
Along the Ohio River.
We brought back a bottle of red wine
From a new Indiana vintner.
Well, he said,
In the early stages
Of whatever it was he had,
This won’t be any damn good:
Not unpredictable,
That this is what we remember
Of that time in his life,
Our lives,
That trip, that gift.

-- Robert Demaree