<h2><SPAN name="chap79"></SPAN>BLUEBERRIES</h2>
<p class="poem">
Upon the hills of Garlingtown<br/>
Beneath the summer sky,<br/>
In many pleasant pastures<br/>
On sunny slopes and high,<br/>
Their skins abloom with dusty blue,<br/>
Asleep, the berries lie.<br/>
<br/>
And all the lads of Garlingtown,<br/>
And all the lasses too,<br/>
Still climb the tranquil hillsides,<br/>
A merry, barefoot crew;<br/>
Still homeward plod with unfilled pails<br/>
And mouths of berry blue.<br/>
<br/>
And all the birds of Garlingtown,<br/>
When flocking back to nest,<br/>
Remember well the patches<br/>
Where berries are the best;<br/>
They pick the ripest ones at dawn<br/>
And leave the lads the rest.<br/>
<br/>
Upon the hills of Garlingtown<br/>
When berry-time was o’er,<br/>
I looked into the sunset,<br/>
And saw an open door,<br/>
And from the hills of Garlingtown<br/>
I went, and came no more.<br/></p>
<p class="left">
FRANK PRENTICE RAND</p>
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