River of Words: Poetry

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Blueberries

I dash down the path
Behind our house.
The grass prickles my feet
As I gaze,
Searching for a patch
Of blueberries.
When I hit the jackpot,
I pick all the blueberries I can
As fast as I can,
And, without anyone else there to see,
I eat more than I plink-plong
Into the bowl.
The afternoon passes fast.
The crickets are beginning to chirp,
And before I know it,
The sun is starting to fade.
My day of blue is over.
My fingers stained with blueberry juice
Will have to be washed,
And my lips will have to be scrubbed.
But in my heart
The blue will last
Forever.

Rachel Miller, Age 13
Center For Teaching and Learning
Edgecomb, Maine
Facilitator: Nancie Atwell

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