When Summer grew fruitful, we first knew
Where the ripe, delicious blackberries grew.
We set off at once before anyone else
Could reach them and help themselves.
No, they couldn't, they were ours to take,
To carry home and make blackberry cake!
Our hands grew spotted with bramble thorns,
The plastic bags we carried became torn,
We couldn't help but snatch a few
When no one was looking, just one or two.
Though tell-tale juice coated us, no one cared-
There were hundreds and thousands of fruits to be shared.
We'd march home, triumphant, our bags brimming,
Deciding that no life was worth living