Blueberries lavender, blueberries blue
I will go berrying, Abbie, with you
We'll carry our sugar pails over our arms
An walk through the meadow past orchards and farms
Over the river bridge, orange with rust
Your soft little toe prints are warm in the dust
In Mr. Frost's pasture the blueberries grow
Blueberries high, huckleberries low
Berries of purple, inky and black
Crowding the trunk of the old tamarack
Berries of silver lavender gloss
Hiding themselves in the feathery moss
Fingers are quick and my sugar pail fills
Till over the top the sweet purple spills
Now for my Abbie I'm off a-spying
Left in a mossy place, with fingers flying
And there on a stong with an empty pail
And purpley lips laughs sweet Abigail.
Then home through the meadow go Abbie and I
Home to our supper of blueberry pie.
And may you have a lovely weekend with a few shining moments!