Blueberries

Late summer
Blueberries
Lie on the ground
Staring up blankly
At branches
And crowns

Flowers
That leaped
At them
Early in spring
Have all passed
Them by
Without
Saying a thing

Far up above
Tall and unblinking
The flowers
Find love
With the breeze
And its inklings

There is only
The pheasants
Those left
In the field
That are willing
To harvest
A Blueberry
Meal

- So up they go -

Over the soil
And under the sky
Far beyond fences
 And bushels of rye
where they'll make
Their own homes
And they'll live
Or they'll die