Blackberries of Amelia

Friging the woods, the stone walls, the lanes,
old thickets everywhere have come alive,
their new leaves reaching out in fans of five
from tangled overarched by this years canes.

They have thier flowers too, it being June
and here or there in brambled dark and light
are small, five petalled blooms of chalky white,
as random clustered and as loosely strewn

As the far stars, of which we are now told
that ever faster do they blot away,
and that a night may come in which, some say,
we shall have blackness to behold.

I have no time for any change so great,
but I shall see the August weather spur
berries to ripen where the flowers were-
dark berries, savage-sweet and worth the wait-

and there will come the moment to be quick
and save some for the birds, and I shall need
two pails, old clothes in which to stain and bleed,
and a grandchild to talk to while we pick.

-Richard Wilbur

While reading this poem I started to think about my grandma and all the things we do together while we talk and catch up. It feels like a huge couincidence that I decided to do this poem this week because my grandma ended up going to the hospital- she is okay now, but we had a really long talk today about life and of the things we wanted to do together, while we still could. My grandma is very much like me. She enjoys the same things that I do. We both especially love nature and the little things that go on that most people don't notice and this poem reminded me of that.