August Blueberries

 

Early morning time

Berries glisten in the sun

Plump for the picking.

 

Grandma and I walk

Through the forest with our pails

In search of berries.

 

We stop our searching

And begin to pick away

Hours become minutes.

 

Tummies and pails full

With the sky reddish yellow

We head back for home.

 

 
This poem is about: 
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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