Sticky Strawberry-Red. - Poem by Fay Slimm
Well may they be a woodland plant
Where, cool and hidden, grow
In shady nook, but here at home
My forty-foot long row
Of strawberries needs expertise
In patience, as in time,
I crouch and bend in full hot sun
To gather from that line
A feast of red, so sweet and small
With fragrance all their own,
My Alpine bed of strawberries,
When picked, are mine alone!
At least thats what I'd like to say
When half-way through I gasp,
But being me I know I'll share, - -
Or be attacked en-masse.!
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