Strawberries

It’s time to pick the strawberries
Out past those forests, still
Past those long and lazy rivers
Quiet towns, and peaceful mill

Yes, way out in the country
In that restful rural scene
Where those long and dusty roads
Lead past farmhouses, serene

It’s time to pick those strawberries
For so plump and ripe they grow
Just kneel with your boxes
In each field’s burrowed row

The harvest now is ready
Under each green, leafy bed
The strawberries wait for softer hands
So let’s stain our fingers, red.