If She's ripe
Pick Her
Do not allow Her to stay on Her vine past Her prime
Her juice and sweetness gone to waste
Listen, migrant farmhand, navigate these rows of bushes of bliss bearing berries with an eye for beauty
Look for those that are ripe
Ready for consumption
Do not carelessly throw Her into your bucket before She's ready, for the rest of Her days will be spent bitter
If She's ripe
Pick Her.
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