My husband has told me how when he was little,
How he and his big sister would get a kettle.
 To pick the wild blueberry's that grew along the roadside 
It's a wonder with all they ate they didn't need bromide
 
I have to laugh because his Mom always knew
When they had eaten more than just a few
For no matter how hard they tried to wipe it away
The faint hint of blue around their lips rued the day
 
After she baked cakes, pies etc. for her brood of seven
She gave what was left for the children to beckon
To the people in town, who had no children of their own.
But who were neighbors and folks they had known
 
To this very day the memories are clear
Of the berry Pickers so very dear
When we go back home we undoubtedly find
Folks who remember the boy so very kind
 
More often than not a little old lady will say
"I remember you, the boy who had a winning way"
I am so glad that the stain is gone
It would be a shame if it lingered on

© Carol G Oliver