St. Genevieve's Crown Valley

CROWN VALLEY

From the porch, our eyes we stretched,
Sipping wine for hours,
October’s sun, on glistening, grapes,
Shielded by the bowers.

Rolling hills of purples,
Reds and greens and white.
Rolling hills of twisting vines
From where the birds took flight.

Into the air they dove so high,
O’er floating clouds they flew,
Upside down, gray-capped, waves
In sky of beryl, blue.

With birdsong, vineyards, wine,
Our worries, sorrows, shifted,
On nuts we watched squirrels dine,
And breathed fall scents that drifted…

Near the town, St. Genevieve,
Near the Mississip,
St. Louis just a little north,
A ninety-minute trip.

And as my Irish granny said,
“Saints preserve…” don’t dally,
And see St. Genevieve ahead…
Preserving God’s Crown Valley!