Greengage grew midst gossypium and gorse
Peasants harvested each season's yield
Dray left in shed, 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 the pickers all plucked plums with zest....
Children harvesting the blackthorn fruit
Perfect for mother's homemade jam
Sloe is 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 they'd eat....
Blackberries picked by the bucketful
To be sold by the side of the road
After knocking together a roadside stall
They would stay 'til everything was sold....
Spring and summer of every year
All these things were done, and more
Arise each day with crowing chanticleer
Then retire to bed with muscles sore....
Why is it when I look back in time
To when my kin did all these things
I brighten up like a shiny new dime
And, I swear, my heart fairly sings....
