Along the sidewalk he strode,
'neath the shade of a well worn Stetson
past a thicket of women.
They beckoned to him.
As tempting as a clump of August blackberries,
and seemingly as juicy and sweet;
their smooth plump fruit
hanging swollen in the hot sun.
But he imagined their vines were tougher,
their roots more hardy,
and their thorns even sharper
than the blackberries he knew from home.
So he kept on walking.
But he had to look back and wonder,
what it would be like,
to pick just one.
RLJ - 2010
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