The berries wreak an awesome spell that
some should dread; others, weak and
soulless, must succumb - they treasure
with their eyes the plump and soulful fruit,
its shape inspires a heady heart that beats
aright as if in love; and love it is that drives
the buds described strawberry red.
You treasure with the tongue, suck the
juice august and pure and thus are done.
The journey back to reason stings with barbs
that cling in shadowed shame of juices in the
blood and blushing on the skin - tightness in
the chest, the crème you swear has done you
harm, you’d best pass up dessert today.
But reason begs you to delay, to wait until
the season ends. And so, dear friend -
strawberries again today.
© 2006, I.D. Carswell
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