A Strawberry

When Grandpa Morris was a boy,
he'd go off to sun-crazed fields
to seed and plough, and if he saw
a strawberry, ripe and ready,

he'd pick it, cradle it in his hands, 

a gift for his beloved mother. 

At sunset, he'd present the strawberry

for her sweet smile.

Coming to these golden shores,
he'd patch the elbows of his sweaters,
and I'd watch him send dollars back home 

wrapped in sheets of carbon paper to fool the censors.

This, before all turned to ash, 

except for one niece. 

Tales rolling down to me of Grandpa Morris,
That's all you'd need to know,

A strawberry and an elbow patched sweater.