I sing deep inside the briar patch
trying to lull the blood hungry
branches waiting to attack my
tender flesh.
I sing deep inside the briar patch
to trade pain for pleasure as ripe
berries roll off my thumb into
my waiting palm.
I sing deep inside the briar patch
with gratefulness to the one who
makes spring wet and cold for
sleepy, thirsty vines.
I sing deep inside the briar patch
as I marvel at bees and butterflies
still busy, finding ways to kiss
blossoms awake.
I sing deep inside the briar patch
to stifle the sting of painful pricks
and ignore the stains of the day's
sweet bounty.
I sing deep inside the briar patch
knowing summer is being stored away,
a frozen token of summer's sunshine
trapped inside.
