Painting the landscape pink,
A view of fleeting, pastel flowers.
Honeybees stop to dote,
Millions of apple blossoms.
Roots reaching deep beneath the soil,
Planted by grandfathers here before us.
Each branch carrying the history
Of our nostalgic family tree.
Apple aroma lingers in the air,
Sweet and tenderly baking.
Hiding the secret recipes,
Of a hundred years before.
A grandmother’s house standing strong of stone,
Two brothers dedicated to the soil,
Creating to each his own.
Chicken coups once bustling with life,
Stand weathering the ride.
Tractors create the soundtrack
To a farm very much alive,
Painting the landscape green
With a thousand healthy trees.
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