The Blackberries

May 1, 2008
By
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.





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