It’s that time of year again

Blackberries everywhere;

Black fingers, black lips

And nobody seems to care.

We picked them as youngsters

Way back when;

My mother making some pin money

By collecting them for the Blackberry Man

Who called round once a week

In his big truck

And shovelled our offerings

Into his steel bin

As close-packed as they would go,

Dripping black water as he worked;

Mothers little trick of making them heavier

Than they should be

Was to add water to the barrel.

I see you were out picking them in the rain again, Mrs O’Brien

Was his only comment as he handed over her payment,

Here’s an extra half crown for your trouble.

One thought on “BLACKBERRIES

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