The Blackberries

May 1, 2008
The blackberries were fresh-picked,
They came from over near that prickly bush.

The best crops are the stalks of corn,
They bring in lumps of money.

I squeeze myself when I eat this stuff,
I can’t be silent after any bite.

The icy-cold feeling of satisfaction is ever-present,
As are the falling leaves in September.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback