Mothers Be Careful
Mothers be careful
what you tell your daughters,
lest thirty years from now,
older than you are today,
they lust for ripe berries,
picked just now
from bushes planted for no other purpose,
berries red and sweet,
warm from summer's sun
and moist with its rain,
and, holding them gently in cupped hands,
anticipation bringing moisture to their tongues,
they decide to act sensibly
and wait to have enough to make a pie.
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