I know this clearing
where the berries burgeon,
but blind to covetous birds,
though one still hears their sweet rill.
They, the berries, are ripe with sun kiss.
We'll make a day of it.
I'll bring a wine basket, a blanket -
You say, "I'll find the pails?"
If all goes well,
we'll have little time for them.
Let's be off, my dear.