STRAWBERRY PICKING

A warm sunny morning, not a cloud in the sky,
The long winter months have all rolled by,
The homemade strawberry jam just all gone,
So there is a wonderful yearly task to be done.

Wearing our oldest clothes and a floppy sun hat,
Armed with a pair of knees pad, or a small old mat,
Or suffer on the straw covered ground, fruit to find,
Seeking for the juicy ones, leaving a few behind.

The smell of the strawberries wafts through the air,
You cannot wait as you are slowly driven out there
To where the berries are ready to be picked by you,
You usually take the family, a motley looking crew.

You pick a few, then eat one you just cannot resist,
A berry warm from the morning sun can’t be missed,
As you bite and the flavour sets the taste buds waking,
Strawberries and ice cream you are already longing.

Then when the sun gets too hot you wander home,
Baskets full and too many in the tummy you moan,
Some for your supper and a special mixed fruit pie,
The rest for sweet strawberry jam to be put by.

We try and make enough to last the whole year through,
That’s what all good families should try hard to do,
All the fun and togetherness strawberry picking brings,
The making of the jam and the sticking together of things!

M Ann Margetson © June 24, 2001