A memory comes drifting . . .
Mom, my sister and me follow a winding path,
behind our home by the edge of a rapid stream;
it is a beautiful sunny day with a blue sky,
the swaying meadow is full of wildflowers and life.
The bees are buzzing and butterflies are floating,
Mom, smiles and hands each of us a straw basket;
she has promised to make us a raspberry pie,
and she wants Grandma to make her special jam.
We all start picking the lush dangling red berries,
one for our baskets and two for our waiting mouth;
we think this real funny and burst out laughing,
until we stop to look at Mom's basket overflowing.
She glances at our baskets and pathetic collection,
have you girls been eating the berries, she sighs;
oh no, we exclaim, bending to pick as fast as we can,
but our red stained fingers and stained lips betray us.
June 28, 2020
Copyright Protected, ID 20- 1263-709-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Strand Completely New (2)
sponsor, Brian Strand
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2020
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