By Josie Whitehead
When August almost says farewell
And September says hello,
We children ramble through the fields
To a place few people know . . .
To a hedgerow packed with blackberries -
And in a hidden spot -
But we hope that no-one's found our hedge
And then have picked the lot!!
These berries - tempting, succulent -
Sit shining in the sun.
Small fingers stretch to reach the best
And gather every one.
There, in the sun, they gently warm
And change from green to black,
But they’ll not all go back with us
For lots will make a snack.
Into the mouth - delicious - sweet!
Oh how they stain the tongue! -
But who would care about such things,
Especially when you’re young?
With briar-scratched hands we pick and pick
And you’ll never hear us grumble
For tonight our Mum has promised us
A blackberry and apple crumble.
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