A poem I wrote Sept. 28, 2024, after discovering my beds of raspberries included some canes that put out a second late autumn harvest I wasn't expecting.
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All summer long I harvested
raspberries, ripe crimson jewels,
queen of the berries.
Now in autumn I am surprised
by a late crop on tall canes.
I gather a taste
of sweetest summer,
all the sweeter for coming late
when hope of sweetness had passed.
I pass the bushes one way, thinking
I have found all there is to gather.
Looking back I see that
what I thought was not yet ready
is ripe and beautiful
and asking me to pick.
Asking me to take the sweetness into me.
