In fields where gentle sunlight spills, Among the rolling, quiet hills, The grapes hang heavy, ripe and sweet, Beneath the vine leaves’ green retreat.
Each cluster catches morning’s glow, In purple, green, and golden show, Their tender skins by dew embraced, A hint of earth, a touch of grace.
Through seasons’ change and weather’s call, The vineyard stands, both proud and tall, From bud to bloom and harvest night, It weaves a tale in dawn’s soft light.
Oh, fruit of patience, fruit of care, Of vintage dreams and autumn’s air, Within each grape, a story flows, A sip of life where nature grows.
iamfairy
In fields where gentle sunlight spills,
Among the rolling, quiet hills,
The grapes hang heavy, ripe and sweet,
Beneath the vine leaves’ green retreat.
Each cluster catches morning’s glow,
In purple, green, and golden show,
Their tender skins by dew embraced,
A hint of earth, a touch of grace.
Through seasons’ change and weather’s call,
The vineyard stands, both proud and tall,
From bud to bloom and harvest night,
It weaves a tale in dawn’s soft light.
Oh, fruit of patience, fruit of care,
Of vintage dreams and autumn’s air,
Within each grape, a story flows,
A sip of life where nature grows.