The bus climbs twisty winding roads,
The scenery amazing.
For miles and miles the vineyards lie,
Attracting all our gazing.
The sky is baby blue; the air
Is crisp and bright and clean,
The cypress trees a living version
Of a Van Gogh scene.
We have a tour and when we're done,
We sample tastes of port.
As we relax, I wish our visit
Wasn't quite so short.
But then we head back to the ship;
The evening will unfold,
Embraced by what in Portugal's
The river made of gold.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment