On high ground through narrow entrance
The allotments opened doors to pickers
Of fruits that of which freedom allowed
Bushes dotted in the sunlight, touchingly,
Where the wasps and flies buzzed around
And the excited voices of children called
To harvest the ripe blackberry as it dropped
I loved my mother’s blackberry and apple
Pie with top of the milk to soften the pastry
With all that love.

Love Mary xxxx