My garden grows a wealth of things:
Redcurrants, blackcurrants, gooseberries, raspberries.
But September brings its sweetest sins—
Thorny briars, purple-black, ripened quick, the blackberries.

Now less nimble, stiff with age,
Ladder steep, sun so bright, pick them all before the night.
I hear her giggle at my side—
Neighbor’s daughter, just eighteen, always helpful, always bright.

“Mr. Hansen,” she grins at me,
“I will help, hand me that,” takes my bucket, then my eye.
She climbs the ladder, steady, tall,
Stretching high, topmost fruit, naked breast and naked thigh.

“Did I catch you staring up my top?”
Blushing red, acting shy, “I never did! Never! Why?”
But she just smiles, her biggest smile:
“You’re so cute, don’t ask me why… I wore no panties—wanna try?”

Stiff no longer just from age,
She drops down, kisses deep, knees in grass, her breath so ripe.
“Do you mind?” she asks, all coy—
“Oh my God! Jesus Christ! I know your dad!” She takes my pipe.

“I like your cock,” she said and grinned.
“Now let’s fuck, stick it in, fuck me hard, and don’t you preach!”
I questioned then, about myself…
She spun around, bared her ass, bent down low, and split her peach.

“Oh, fuck, so tight!” — yeah?
“Christ, you’re wet!” — mmm, yeah…
“I’m gonna cum!” — fuck, yeah!
“Fuck yeah, fuck yeah!” — fuck yeah!

My garden grows a wealth of things:
Most of all—the blackberries.