There they grew all year,
Quietly through winter’s tear,
Blossoms small and white
Falling softly in the night.
Then they saw his rays
And did darken with the days.
Little red pebbles
Amidst the thorns like rebels,
Oh, which hand withdrew you
That is not now stained your hue?
Has one not tasted
The time wishing it lasted?
Listen. Lovely dreams
Fade fast then tear at the seams.
As a thorn stuck in
Bleeds less than the berry’s skin
On the plucking hands,
So are sweet events on these lands.
Each another stain
Matched with tiny thorns and pain.
These days ripening
Are blackberries still blossoming.