Painting the landscape pink,
Buds 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 embodying 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.
A father’s sturdy hands made strong by the land,
Tending to soil, praying for rain.
Cousins who grew beneath the shade of the trees,
Bonded forever by the air that we breathe.
Painting the landscape green with a thousand healthy trees,
What you have given us you may never know,
The appreciation for nature and all that it grows.
A future as promising as a new apples’ buds,
A history fulfilled by those that we love.
No comments:
Post a Comment