Tangled and lovely, hot and dusty,
And exotic blooms wild and lusty;
And days are fine like old wine,
And bluejays are there to dine.
Throaty warbling amid the trees--
Is wafted by the silent breeze.
This lane leads to Farmer McCain
And his wheat fields of grain!
Children race along this path;
Laughter echoes their aftermath!
Colored blooms riot 'till day is done,
Then off to sleep in search of the sun.
Blackberry Lane twists and turns;
And in summer, it burns.
The beginning place of country pies;
Resting place of the butterflies!
The lane seems jaded even in June,
And though it's long, it ends too soon;
Somewhere out near Farmer McCain
And his wheat fields of grain.