young mothers

Sometimes I write poetry.  This is a favorite poem of mine. This particular poem was created for a class while studying for my masters in arts integration.

 

 

 

             Little Cedar Berry Farm

 

Two sweethearts

when freckled, picked berries from a bush

two of them, stationed on paralleled rows

between the full hedges, soft sweet and lush.

Black pups swooned near their necks and birds did crow.

Two sweet children each with a waffled tray

Practiced their skills, dyed their digits to red,

blew back their bangs and dredged aprons of lead.

Around the farm yard bench, the mother bays;

and to all the warm dusk, flirts fearless to be fed

moans for our tawny hands and sweaty heads.

Twelve full quarts they picked.  Some berries they ate

then sifted in green boxes, one by one and jostled the rosy nipples of fruit.

Beyond the tall grasses, though nearer the sun

I sat and watched them, yearning to be young.

This is a photo of me when I was a young mother with our two darling daughters. Now I’m a grandma to the daughter of mine on the right in the photo.  The baby on the left is now fully grown and having her first child in the fall.  My, how time flies by….

Do you have a favorite poem of yours which you have penned?  I’d love for you to share it with me.

Contact me at Dhcbaldwin@gmail.com or DeborahBaldwin.net

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