Picking Blueberries

He walked through the wood

Tangled and Grown

Shade and clinging vine

Grasping at him

Thislte and trail

In the cool Of early spring

Leading him to

Blueberries

In muted cool

On shaded path

Blue eyed and looking on

The fruit of his desire

In baskest blonde

Of woven reed

Come before his hand

Came the fruit

That drove him there

“til springing beast

In Muscled brown

And killing rage

Charged through the forest

And drove all thoughts

Of civil life

Off

With just one Grey squirrel

One response to “Picking Blueberries

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