My berries cluster black and thick
For rich and poor alike to pick.
I’ll tear your dress, and cling, and tease,
And scratch your hand and arms and
knees.
I’ll stain your fingers and your face,
And then I’ll laugh at your disgrace.
But when the bramble-jelly’s made,
You’ll find your trouble well repaid.
—THE SONG OF THE BLACKBERRY QUEEN
by Cicely Mary Barker
Tiny tender forming berries lie hidden among the thorns
Time and sun, mixed with gentle rains, soon will transform these tiny green gems to change from first a crimson red to the deep purple black of ripeness.
Come late June, sweet juice bursting forth will be ready for both jam and pie.
As Summer’s calling card lies hidden in the thorns. . .
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