"Sun climbs high and sun sinks low, Moon on a branch refuses to go. Barefoot wanders the exile, you see, As fr…
"Sun climbs high and sun sinks low, Moon on a branch refuses to go.
Barefoot wanders the exile, you see, As fresh green grapes come home to me."
So goes an old song about these grapes, said to carry the sweet dreams of the lonely and homesick back to their joyful homes.