Greengage grew midst gossypium and gorse
Peasants harvested every season's yield
Dray left in shed, much too heavy of course
It would bog down in the muddy field....
Wild cyrilla blooms in orange bright
Imported from far off Indies West
Producing a garish almost alien sight
As all the pickers plucked plums with zest....
Children harvested the blackthorn fruit
Perfect for mother's homemade jam
Sloe picked to be sold to the local Jute
For making of gin in Birmingham....
This time of year the dandelion greens
Could be gathered and cooked up neat
Wild onions and garlic add to the means
Of flavoring most everything we eat....
Blackberries picked by the bucketful
To be sold by the side of the road
We would fall asleep during any lull
And stay until everything was sold....
Spring and summer of every year
We did all these things and more
Arise each day with crowing chanticleer
Then go to bed with muscles sore....
Why is it when I look back in time
To call up all that childhood brings
I brighten up like a shiny dime
And my old heart fairly sings....