Berry Picking
The old man arrived a gleam in his eyes;
He announced with aplomb “berries are in”
The buckets are clean, the weather is fine;
Who wants to go berry picking with me?
No! No takers save one, I had the time.
So off we did go, to the berry patch.
My grandfather knew all the best places to pick.
Berry picking meant story time for me.
We picked berries alright, but the real delight,
Were tales he would tell of when he was young.
My imagination would soar to great heights;
Time stood still, as pails seemed to fill themselves.
Alas, time marches on; the old man is gone;
Gone are the stories, the pails lay in wait;
I still ask the question, no takers I get.
Sadly there are no berry pickers but me.
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