Blackberry Pie

Basket adorning my wrist

Kid gloves to cover my fist

Through sweet magnolia fields

To the sweet taste the thorny blackberry yields

Ah the smells, the sights, the laughter

As my siblings and friends chase ever after

Sweet nectar, honeysuckle and blossoms

Raccoons, deer, snakes, rabbits, possums

Yes, we did indeed pick those wild mountain berries

Bringing home bloodied fingers, blackberry and cherry

I shall never forget the aroma from the oven

As my sister and I would be shoving

Each other none too gently out of the way

While mom shooed; "Y'all git now," she'd say

Ah those pies made from the fruits of our pickings

Joyful desserts that had us finger licking

Our pies weren't made by Little Debbie nor Sarah Lee

They were bought by thorn scratched hands and bended knee

They tasted all the better, that I definitely know

Even though the memory is over a foggy drift of decades

Still, mom's homemade pies get the best accolades

I tried to get my kids to pick up a basket

Unfortunately, they'll sooner pick up my casket