Picking
When the danger of frost is long past
When spring has come, at last, at last!
We all go down the road to pick
You can see us as you drive in
Our butts upturned as we dive in
To the waves of luscious fruit, and stick
Them gently in our baskets
It isn’t work, as a task it’s
Pretty much the best
We all attest
A simple lean down, the moving aside a leaf and lo!
There’s really nothing like it, though
Joe calls it “primitive shopping”
And we do pick and choose before popping
Them in our mouths or baggies
To make jam, or to freeze
Or make smoothies
If you gather enough
And “put them up”
They will surely sup
Ply you with plenty
“All year,” someone ringing up twenty
Pounds boasted, counting out ones
“I’ve still got tons!”
It’s something to see, really
Tiny faces, pink-smeared and gleaming
Grown men who arrive steely
Yet go away beaming
Teenagers dragged out of beds
Arrive mumbling and shaking their heads
Leave off pestering and quibbling
Show big ones to young siblings
As if there is something blessed here
In the young part of the year
About the gathering abundance
Our sparkling sun dance
And our giddy, giddy storing up
All words and music by Dave Hall ©
Publisher: Row House Music PRO: ASCAP
