French Berries

Let me stay to see them ripen, said the plaintive voice too proud to speak.

August berries on the Grand GabaritI pinch a berry and it drops sour tears to thorns and stickleback leaves.

Oh let me stay to see them sweeten and burst their purple syrup to stain my lips and fingertips.

But words must be eaten, for words to stop this storm’s momentum would be words of supplication.

No words will be spoken, and the berries ripen for other eyes and mouths to sweeten.

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