Gayle Sweeney (May 1955 / Massachusetts USA)
When I was a child on Rag Rock blueberries surprised me
Near shady trees.
The berries revealed a dark, sparkling blue and caught a deep, rich,
Soft, warm footpaths can be quietly followed
Warmed by the heavenly sun.
Some summer days white clouds greet the bright, dancing sky
With a happy welcome!
A cliff not far from the woods where
A little berrying still can be done,
Might have helped an old, sacred homeland at one time
From being overrun.
Way up high this threshold purely enchants us
With a magnificent sight.
The cliff is now softly taken only by the
Coming early twilight.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Rag Rock by Gayle Sweeney )
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