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Mulberry M'Am
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Mulberry M'Am

A tight-woven birch basket
Weary with wear
A God-given garden
An orchard lass fair

With bushels of berries
And fictitious fruit
A little lost cowbird
A peppermint flute

I gander, I gather
Not a nook will I spare
I wander, I wonder
Which fruit flowers where

I walk - widdle pathways
I stumble across
A berry patch prickled
And pebbles - peat moss

The berries be golden
With puce ladel leaves
The vines; powder white
A wonder she weaves

Mysterious berries
A woman walks near
I ask her 'what be they? '

'Why, mulberries dear'

'Mulberries m'am? '
'Be they poison to eat? '

'Of course not, ' she said
So I suckled them sweet

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