All morning in the strawberry field
They talked about the Russians.
Squatted down between the rows
We heard the head woman say,
'Bomb them off the map.'
paused and stung.
And the taste of strawberries
Turned thick and sour.
Mary said slowly,
'I've got a fella Old enough to go.
If anything should happen...'
The sky was high and blue.
Two children laughed at tagIn the tall grass,
Leaping awkward and long-legged
Across the rutted road.
The fields were full of bronzed young men
Hoeing lettuce, weeding celery.
'The draft is passed,' the woman said.
'We ought to have bombed them long ago.'
'Don't,' pleaded the little girl
With blond braids.
Her blue eyes swam with vague terror.
She added petishly, 'I can't see why
You're always talking this way...
''Oh, stop worrying, Nelda,
'Snapped the woman sharply.
She stood up, a thin commanding figure
In faded dungarees.
Businesslike she asked us,
'How many quarts?'
She recorded the total in her notebook,
And we all turned back to picking.
Kneeling over the rows,
We reached among the leaves
With quick practiced hands,
Cupping the berry protectively before
Snapping off the stem
Between thumb and forefinger.
"A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool."- William Shakespeare
So I have been neglecting this blog like a middle child, but I have a poem for you lovely people kind enough to follow. Enjoy!
You think you know; but not a soul does
Hiding in the shadows and under dust
Gliding past you unnoticed
Biding it's time , waiting in silence
Tormenting you with, night after night
To face the lurking beast; your heart's desire
Sliping from your bed at God's knows what hour
Banish the darkness with the filcker of light
but in that corner lies nothing more than the reflection of fire
Yield your search and curiosity retire
No good can come from seeing that not meant for your eyes
The sun is rising and with it goes your chance to catch
That beast, no man was ever meant to catch.