Gayle Sweeney

(May 1955 / Massachusetts USA)

Rag Rock


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,
Dreamy breeze.
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.

Submitted: Wednesday, October 06, 2010
Edited: Thursday, June 06, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Rag Rock is conservation land in Woburn MA where an Indian tribe used to live. I picked blueberries there in the Black Woods and played when I was a little girl.

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