I went to a field of jazzberries and I plucked some notes. I wrapped them up in a clorful rythm and played them into my tote. I skipped 16 bars and arrived back at my clef, started climbing the scales to my kitchen and became a musical chef. I grabbed my pitch and my key-they had to be just right not just any utensil could be used to enjoy the first bite. I layed out the jazzberries so plump and so smooth-I took the first bite and out bursted the bebop and blues. A fusion of flavors harmonized on the tip of my tounge-they sparked my heart-and so I sung. I could have skatted and grooved all night long but all my jazzberries were gone. Id have to wait for the snycopation of the night to play on those jazzberries of symphonic delight.