Little Round Prickers
Those nasty little round prickers, I remember those doggone stickers.
A-lay in the field that we would cut through,
The prickers attacked us on our way to school.
From our socks we'd spend time picking,
Remember how they would be pricking?
First to our ankles they would stick tight,
Then our fingers they would sharply bite.
The poor dog loved to roll, it would never fail,
Alas, he'd be covered from his head to his tail.
My, how the prickers tangled deep in his hair,
When picking them out we always took care.
Countless times we encountered the ordeal,
Still we never considered not using the field.
While going to school was only one excuse,
Oh, the wild berries the field would produce.
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I was born in 1949. My siblings and I spent our days in the field mentioned in the poem "Little Round Prickers." The field was a great place to play war games, pick wild berries, and use as a shortcut to school. Recently, while reminiscing about my childhood, I developed an interest in writing to share my thoughts. I couldn't write as a student, but that was fifty years ago. I turned on the computer, began to type, and found not only could I do it, I love it!
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