Ilene Bauer Poet Rhyme

Slim Pickings

Went with the kids to the blueberry farm,
Everyone ready to pick.
Armed with a bucket, we wandered the rows 
But somehow our luck ran out quick.

For nary a berry on nary a bush,
Except some real tiny and tart.
The kids pulled a few, they went plunk in the pail;
We were off to a not-so-great start.

The season is ending this weekend, we heard;
I guess that explains our dumb luck.
We'll settle for strawberries that, in the store,
We managed, when shopping, to pluck.

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Maurice Rigoler August 26, 2018 at 7:27 PM In Maine right now the blueberries are still being picked. Only problem,the berries are very small, absent of juice, and not worth the effort to pick them by the roadside. Cherryfield Maine calls itself the blueberry capitol of the world, whether true or not. Could relate to this poem. / M

Jan Allison August 26, 2018 at 5:48 PM My blueberry bush yields me one or two tiny fruit every day but I've had the most fabulous crop of summer fruits but they are long gone now. You'll have to get to the fruit farm earlier next year!:-) hugs jan xx

Gershon Wolf August 26, 2018 at 3:17 PM Cute and clever. VERY enjoyable read, as usual. Thank you for giving us so many extraordinary ordinary verses. ~ Gershon

Caren Krutsinger August 26, 2018 at 12:34 AM A sweet little poem. I am reminded of the scratched up bloody arms during the raspberry pickings of my youth, Ilene.