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See here, for a whim, We'll pick in the Mortensons' pasture this year. You ought to have seen how it looked in the rain, The fruit mixed with water in layers of leaves, Like two kinds of jewels, a vision for thieves.
There had been some berries--but those were all gone. They store a great many away.
Blåbærmuffins med crème fraîche
He has brought them all up on wild berries, they say, Like birds. And all ripe together, not some of them green And some of them ripe! We'll go in the morning, that is, if it's clear, And the sun shines out warm: You ought to have seen!
He won't make the fact that they're rightfully his An excuse for keeping us other folk out. It's so long since I picked I almost forget How we used to pick berries: He spoke to his wife in the door, 'Let me see, Mame, we don't know any good berrying place?
They won't be too friendly--they may be polite-- To people they look on as having no right To pick where they're picking. I taste in them sometimes the flavour of soot. The rascal, he said he'd be glad To tell if he knew. Fordel deigen i store muffinsformer av papir eller bruk muffinsbrett for store, amerikanske muffins hvis du har det.
He didn't say where they had been. Blueberries as big as the end of your thumb, Real sky-blue, and heavy, and ready to drum In the cavernous pail of the first one to come! The blue's but a mist from the breath of the wind, A tarnish that goes at a touch of the hand, And less than the tan with which pickers are tanned.
Not one of them turned, And they looked so solemn-absurdly concerned. But we won't complain.