My backyard has a blackberry bramble,
That creeps and tangles pine, reluctant host.
Through needles, sharp, the lode the vines gamble,
And form a cave, the fort I love the most.
I creep into my shadowed berry cave
To pluck the purpled gems from whippish vines
That hang so low with dimpled globes. I crave
The leaf-dressed amaranthine sugared brine.
I dream of jam and tarts and berry pie
As thorned nets grasp my curls and black-stained coat.
A lush and juicy berry meets my eye,
It slips, de-juiced and crushed, on down my throat.
I turn to leave the tangled briar net,
My mouth, with berry blood, so sweet and wet.