In the park beneath the trees
A dark-eyed boy with black hair stands
And picks the bright red mulberries
With graceful movements of his hands.
On his tongue the forgotten taste
Of antique times and distant lands
He plucks the shadows from the leaves
To shade the sun of desert sands.
Memory feasts in gold-stitched shade
Tongue-tipped sorbets on silk divans
And sweet berries beneath cool canopies
Of sedately sailing caravans.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

11 thoughts on “Mulberries”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s