No finer a scene can be
Than strawberry pickers
In the early morning
With rumps up in the air
Eyes fixed on berries
so fat and near
Red fingers all they're having a ball
The world outside is put on stall
There seems to be tranquility
Amidst these fields of berrying
Each sore back picks away
Not noticing the heat of day
Contentment marks each Isle I see
As pickers talk upon there knees
Not about the cares of life
Rather how these berries relive its strive
Come with me now we'll pick awhile
The cares of life will wash away
As we pick away a summers day
Nick Krakana
July 2013
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem