I ride over my beautiful ranch. Betwen my legs is a beautiful horse.The air is wine. The grapes on a score of rolling hills are red with autumn flame.Across Sonoma Mountain, wisps of sea fog are stealing.
Jack London
I ride over my beautiful ranch. Betwen my legs is a beautiful horse.The air is wine. The grapes on a score of rolling hills are red with autumn flame.Across Sonoma Mountain, wisps of sea fog are stealing.