The berry season's long since past. It seems it came and went too fast. Just when they were best to eat We had our fiercest summer heat. No sooner were they ripe and lush, Than most of them had turned to mush. Now I'm set so I won't miss The Southern woodland's sweetest kiss, As high among the oaks and pines I've climbed up high amid the vines And found a wealth of muscadiines.
David Martin