Childhood Circle

Berry Picking

A sparrow chattered overhead
while we picked the boysenberries.
Our hands were sticky with the juice,
our fingers too dirty for licking clean.
The cat stalked the moths cavorting
above the vines. We complained
about the heat, but kept picking.
Grandma promised pie for dessert.
A thunderstorm rode down the canyon
throwing lightning and hailstones at us.
The cat and sparrow fled to the porch.
We dropped our pails and ran for the house.
The berries scattered over the lawn.
We had no dessert that night.

Next Poem:  "Grownups Talked"

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Updated last on:  2001/05/23