Picking berries

When the air is so ripe
And berries when hung red
From those branches of our trees
Why not we go picking them
Tasting their goodness
So filled with the scent of the wild
Moist, juicy and sweet?

Do they not welcome us home
And tell us not our wanton pleasures
That we savoured for ages
In our hearts like the way
We fell in love ?


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