Brambling Days
Through the thorny bramble
Our hands were sorely tried,
Stretching for the juicy ones
The black ones, way up high.
Sometimes we ate the red ones
Sharp and bitter sweet.
But the plump and sticky ripened ones,
Those ones were the treat.
We collected basketfuls
Our fingers purple stained,
But by the time we got them home,
Very few remained.
Copyright © Gary Smith | Year Posted 2017
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