Thursday I picked plums, and.....I may have picked a peck,
but if it WEREN'T a peck I picked, "Who Cares? ". What the heck!
Some were soft, some still hard, some purple, some were green.
This year's is a "bumper crop", the best that Bri has seen.
I will eat as finger-food; my mate may make plum wine,
….AND pickles! But, for me, .....just raw and ripe is fine.
I've NO wish, my plum-picking days, to soon resume,
and I'll be GLAD if birds do …., the other fruit, consume.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem