The Strawberry Fields (a pantoum)

The fruit was sweet, almost overripe.
I saw them in the fields:
red beauties resting on the ground.
The sun showered its full power over them, making them glisten.

I saw them in the fields:
red bandanas tied around their faces, no rest for another 12 hours.
The sun showered its full power over them, making them glisten.
They spread out around white buckets, hung low down.

Red bandanas tied around their faces, no rest for another 12 hours.
The highway was a constant music beside them.
They spread out around white buckets, hung low down.
The ones that were less than perfect, they left in the field.

The highway was a constant music beside them.
Fresh and plump, they smelled like picnics.
The ones that were less than perfect, they left in the fields.
Some were worth their weight in gold.

Fresh and plump, they smelled like picnics.
A little tenderness in our day is all we can ask for.
Some were worth their weight in gold.
The trucks were loaded, a jeweled freight.

A little tenderness in our day is all we can ask for.
Red beauties resting on the ground.
The trucks were loaded, a jeweled freight.
The fruit was sweet, almost overripe.

Nov. 16, 2013

One of 30 poems in 30 days

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