The scent of wild raspberries
Lingers on my red-stained fingers.
Insects hum around me
At different pitches;
There isn’t a breath of wind.
I miss your joy
At tasting the first fruit of each season
As you lent on your walking stick.
You once told me
To take a spoonful of gin-soaked raisins
Medicinal, you understand.
I pull raspberries off the woodland bushes
In hazy, silver-edged sunshine;
I’ll drink them, in your memory.