Down Blackberry Lane

Tangled and lovely, hot and dusty, And exotic blooms wild and lusty; And days are fine like old wine, And bluejays are there to dine. Throaty warbling amid the trees-- Is wafted by the silent breeze. This lane leads to Farmer McCain And his wheat fields of grain! Children race along this path; Laughter echoes their aftermath! Colored blooms riot 'till day is done, Then off to sleep in search of the sun. Blackberry Lane twists and turns; And in summer, it burns. The beginning place of country pies; Resting place of the butterflies! The lane seems jaded even in June, And though it's long, it ends too soon; Somewhere out near Farmer McCain And his wheat fields of grain.