At the edge of the small, wild wood

Where the trees and the vines grow free

Knelt I in the dirt, away from the sun

In the shade of a young oak tree.

At the base of the tree I slid my hand

With a grace that a cat would pride

Though a tangled mesh of deep green briars

With gleaming black dewdrops inside.

Evading the thin, near-invisible spines

That protect the glowing black gems

My fingers discovered the treasure I sought

And stole it from its stem.

I pull back my hand slowly, softly,

Out of the blackberry patch,

Holding lightly between two fingers

A berry with naught but perfection to match.

After I added the jewel to my basket

To join to the glittering heap

I then plucked another, but this one I ate

For this one was mine alone keep.

When I crushed the berry between my teeth

The blackberry juice flowed in,

Tasting of the sweet joy of life;

Of sun and rain and wind.