In the second week of August in Maine
The wild blueberries are ripe for picking
To be baked in a pie with a butter crust
To be picked up from a roadside farm stand
An annual indulgence I allow myself
To enjoy the feel of each bite in my mouth
Just the right intensity of sweet fruit
With a delicious crust to follow
Savored piece by piece for several days
Shared with you though you take less
Leaving me more than enough
To fill me up with gustatory pleasure
We do dessert only on special occasions
Though one more day is not remarkable
And one more year is not significant
When so many have come and gone
So we make our simple acknowledgement
Appreciating the well wishes we receive
Grateful to be here in good health
Every day is a good day when you get old
