POEM OF THE DAY
September 30
Here the blackberries grow wild,
they get wacked and treated like weeds.
There ain’t no fallen berries
on the curbs back home.
I picked some blackberries for you.
I’ll put’em in a pie or custard or something
sweet ’cause you always liked
blackberries and I always liked you to smile.
Here the blackberries grow wild,
they get wacked and treated like weeds.
There ain’t no fallen berries
on the curbs back home.
I picked some blackberries for you.
I’ll put’em in a pie or custard or something
sweet ’cause you always liked
blackberries and I always liked you to smile.