Picking Blackberries
The Blackberries in Quincy
Are almost ready to pick
My annual event on
Making myself sick
You drive for hours
Knowing it's going to take
High hopes of canning
And pies to bake
Wrestling through bushes
For hours on end
One for the bucket
Two for the mouth over again
Fingers are sore
From the thorns along the vine
A full days work shows
An empty pail, full stomach, but all mine
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
