On a visit to granny in the Doon valley
It was March and the tree full of Mulberries.
Red, purple teasing from far, fetched a cane basket
Joyfully picked one, ate some while birds created racket.
Felt nostalgic on seeing in a bucket in the market.
Lying on a bed of ice covered with a guaze net.
Hawker beckoned, explained, delicate spoil early.
Sweet and sour as girls like am told, juicy and healthy.
Came back home with a bagful, took out in a bowl.
My granny used to make jam; now I eat them whole.
No longer alive; her toothless smile, bed time stories,
Ruddy wrinkled face, warm embrace, etched in memories...
Mamta Agarwal
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/granny-and-mulberries/
