Raymond A. Foss Poems

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Like a thick cluster of ripe Concord grapes
The blueberries hung on the bush
Eager for my grasp, their liberation from the stalk
Drop, the fall into the can,
Hung like a horse’s feed bag around my neck

Sticky lush flesh clutched, grasped
Gingerly between my fingers
Don’t want to lose one

Smell the warm August air ‘round me
Drink the quiet of the farm
Forget time, other urgencies of life

Hunt for each bit of fruit
Hidden by branch and leaf
Treasures to be savored later

Monarch and dragonfly join my reverie
Break the stillness of the haze
Eager for the sweet harvest too

August 16, 2005 13:29

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