The Blackberries
Some hung forlornly
Off withering branches
The others , meanwhile
Hung heavy after
September deluges
Some
Ripe, and ready
For the picking
Others fallen into the long grass
And still more
Decayed, yet still attached
To their mother
The rest
Not quite yet ready
I gathered those
that fell easily into my eager fingers
My right hand
Now blooded, and reddened
By the flowing ripeness
I shall feast tonight
On their succulence
As my tastebuds
Moisten
Like early morning dew
In anticipation
Awaiting
My Blackberry tongue

by Jemia