Steep slate slopes glow in autumn gold
Below jagged white aretes.
Strong young men hunt among the crags
Pursuing choice chamois and deer.
Valley maids harvest purple grapes.
Laughing children mash-dance in vats.
Women stir yeast to set the brew
And lid and cork some oaken casks.
Auld men rest warm on terrace slates
Of a sunlit vine-wrapped arbor,
Slowly sipping first blush vintage,
Telling tales of mighty hunts.
Bright eyes eager for fontina
Laughter and motsetta slices,
Raising glasses filled with Syrah
To toss their years a grand hurrah.
Their hearts are on the mountain highs,
But sunset colors paint their eyes.
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