The best blackberries have gone, I said
as my daughter bounded ahead.

I think we missed the best blackberries.
These ones are a bit squishy.

But if we collect these ones, that look okay,
I’m sure they’ll be good in a crumble.

I obviously wrote a poem about it.
The parallel is real-time.

Just how summer has passed me by
And although still warm, the nights are drawing in.

Entire branches of the crop are moulded and powdery,
Some still protrude, purple-to-black, but they lack firmness and sharpness.

Wait up, you beautiful kid!
While you and I are here with tubs,
Let’s collect what’s left for us.
I’m sure they’ll be good in a crumble.