Here for a season
Raspberries red
ripe for the plucking.
The best fruit is highest.
High summer is working.
We reach for the finest.
The thorns they are pricking.
The taste that is sweetest
very soon will be rotten.
We eat of the ripest.
The rest we are leaving.
The seeds of our repast
the birds they are taking.
Tomorrow is soonest.
Today's time is passing.
When summer is warmest
we know autumn is coming.
13/7/03 8.00
