As Children Picking Blackberries

I remember picking blackberries
When I was very little.
We’d go in groups to comb
Our favorite fields
For the coveted fruit.

At times, we’d find large clusters,
Juicy and ripe, on a single vine;
It was blackberry heaven.

Then there were the red berries
That had a little while yet to ripen.
But the green berries
Hadn’t even begun to turn.

Some of the vines were promising
With only a beautiful white blossom.
But we—with our brown-paper bags
And bowls—remained hopeful
For a bountiful harvest.

Of course, we’d have to
Be careful for the thorns,
And for the snakes too.
It seemed, they loved to hang out
Amongst the blackberries.

Times that can never be duplicated;
Those were the days.