Thickets thick with rich, black berries
thoughts of cobblers bubbling hot
ice cream melting o’er the top…
Barging through the brambles,
scrambling for the perfect picking
just beyond the full arm’s stretch…
Scratched and stained with crushed ripe berries,
smiling triumphant buckets full
swinging high on up the fence rows..
Mama’s going to be pleased this day,
stoke the wood stove brightly burning
turn out the crust, crimp the edges, delicious and light…
Ripe these memories keep forming
climbing through new growths of cane
and I’m filling up the buckets once again.
c.Darlene Moore Berg