The Gooseberry Bush.
On the bank, near the creek,
Spring would bring a little peek
as the bush grew out of the snow
we knew the fruit it would bear
in Summer days as we walked near.
Lush, fat, green, white Gooseberries
harvested by a little child’s hands
eaten with relish and promise grand
juicy sweet berries, a succulent treat
eaten on the way to the swimming pool
in the creek.
Mother never could gather enough of them
for a Gooseberry Jam or Jelly
those precious, sweet jewels always
found their way into my belly.
bentfeather (c) 07.30.06