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Rated: E · Poetry · Family · #410234
It's hot and the dewberries are ripe
She covered me with dewberry kisses
The look of the sun on her face
Tiny little dewberry fingers
Stretched wide for a mother's embrace.

We talked of the bounty of treasure
Her excitement barely controled
Of the wonderful dewberry magic
Her mother could work on this gold.

So we brought forth from those dewberry promises
The summer of childhood innocence I miss
But just once before the winter takes over
I would love one more dewberry kiss

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