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The soothing symphony of cowbells settle in the soul,
The crisp sharp lines of mountain peaks deliver a sense of whole.
Crystal lakes like diamonds shine glaciers ancient and old,
Dazzling days and freezing nights the best of warm and cold.

Herds in celebration mark a season turned,
As shepherds drive their cattle down a winter break they’ve earned.
Festivities of traditional dress, brezen and beer daze,
A livelihood from cheese and milk of Hirten and Berg ‘Käs’.

Balconies billowing red geraniums bright offset against fields of green,
Farmers toiling day and night before the snow be seen.
“Gruss Gott” the obligatory greeting a sign of courtesy,
As tourists grace the ‘thousand trails’ so much to do and see.

Stone Age, Celts, Swedes, Spanish and French have forged a history long,
Conquering the Roman Empire the Alemanni trumpeted their victory song.
A tapestry of dialects underpins the local vernacular
The linguistic parlance of syntax, structure, slang and speech a mastery quite spectacular.

In this place where mountains and valleys meet myriad memories and friendships lie,
A sense of place, of home, of joy looking up to the crosses high.
Autumn creeps across the land as lakes hug mountain and sky,
Alas dear friends we know for sure we’ll not want to say goodbye.

 

This Post Has One Comment

  1. ominokie

    You’re a po-et…
    Did you no-et???
    Makes my Christmas poems pale into insignificance!!! 🤣🤣
    Very brilliant!!!! As usual….10/10!!! 😘😘

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