August Blueberries
Early morning time
Berries glisten in the sun
Plump for the picking.
Grandma and I walk
Through the forest with our pails
In search of berries.
We stop our searching
And begin to pick away
Hours become minutes.
Tummies and pails full
With the sky reddish yellow
We head back for home.
This poem is about:
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: