Blueberry muffins for breakfast,
And blueberries there in the fridge.
It’s summer in Maine, and it’s blueberries —
Like in Cali, the Golden-Gate bridge.
Little blueberries in my container
As I duck-walked all over the hill,
When I was a kid at our summer place.
I remember their sweetness still.
Fresh blueberries from Maine aren’t ready.
Late summer’s hot days and cool nights
Bring them ripening onto the hillside,
For bear cubs’ and children’s delights.
If they grew all year I would be up there
Just picking and eating my fill,
Enjoying the sun on the hilltop.
This summer, I think that I will.
Inspired by, and with many thanks to, Robert McCloskey and his lovely book, Blueberries for Sal.