Sonnet #239

Blackberries are roses. Don’t let anyone forget.

Also apples and cherries are roses, the bloom

has the blush, the center familiar, the plum

is a rose, all of them showing their past

Say one is tall as a tree, or as small as a cane

Say the leaves are different, the climates

Say the histories dispute the details of the diets

And the nature of the frosts demand their changes

But, they are roses. See them bloom. The petals

blush as petals, and smell so sweet they fill a room

Every blossom is connected, though the meddle

of the men that came pretend to divvy up and fume

The details of the rosehips that they peddle —

Smell the peach upon the table, know it’s bloom

is roses, all just roses: how sweets are made is settled.

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