The Altapass Orchard Poem by Gulliver Gimble

Watch as migratory orioles dive to plunder.
The sound of ancient wisdom thunders.
Across the valley, cloudy shadows are cast.
The rippened apples are ready at AltaPass.

Children run and latch to youthful joys.
Climbing old tree's as if they were toy's.
Freshest of fruit, straight from the heart.
Some are not ready and may seem tart

This ground is old, this ground is perfect.
Seldom seen or viewed from the surface.
The roots of nature hold strong and true.
Out of a hundred, only fifty grew.

When the sun reaches high, long drawn days.
Spend the afternoon dancing in golden rays.
As the sun takes hold and your thirst is like torture.
Grab a few apples at The AltaPass Orchard.