An Apple And Blackberry Crumble Poem by Edna Greenway

I walk along the riverbank,
Dew drenching my shoes,
I extend a hand stained inky purple,
The ripe ones, I choose.
I carefully pluck them from the bush,
The brambles scratching my bare arms
As the blackberry drops into the pot
A small thud when it lands
To join the others, lying in a comfy cot

Further down the path sits a crab apple tree
On tiptoes I reach up and grab one
The smooth cold shape nestling in my palm
I smile under the bright yellow sun
More and more slide into my bag
As I pull them off the branch
Below me snakes a river, looking like quicksilver
Not quite an avalanche

I take them home and wash them both;
Water dripdropping off the shiny green surface
Water sliding into the sockets of air between the purple bubbles of juice

I slice the crab apples up on a yellow chopping board;
The seeds are a rich mahogany brown
The flesh so white, like snow freshly fallen on the ground

I lay it in a pot, the pattern swirling around;
Like perfect white laurel wreaths with little inky pools
Dusted with cinnamon and sugar that shimmers like little jewels

I sprinkle over the topping, oats, butter, sugar, flour;
Topped with yet more cinnamon, just like fairy dust
I watch it golden in the oven as it forms the perfect crust

I dip a spoon it and eat, like heaven is it's taste-
My family gathers round, make sure none goes to waste-
This is my crumble and the story of how it was made.