When I walk out into the sunlight
Of a warm summer’s day, my head
Turns like a hand on a clock’s face
Toward the red raspberry patch
On the edge of the field.

The red raspberries glow there,
Looking forward to the picking of
Little hands, reaching out
To place them in baskets.
I think this as I walk
Toward the red raspberry patch
On the edge of the field.

My pale hands, white from winter snow,
Pluck a berry from the winding branch.
Into my mouth it goes,
Sinking into my taste buds,
Some little piece of heaven fallen from the skies.
I continue to walk
Into the red raspberry patch
On the edge of the field.

Homeward bound I turn now;
The grass feels soft and silky against my feet
While I trod the path moments before
I had walked in contemplation.
All the while I think of my trip
Toward the red raspberry patch
On the edge of the field.