Highbush Cranberry in the woods

I ate a berry that no hand had touched.

No one had planted here this shrub to grow,

None watered; and its place no one could know

But I myself. (So red, so tasting much.)

The only harvest needed was, reach up,

Bring near the branch as though unto a kiss

(What sweeter lips can there be than this)

And strip from stem to mouth the holy cup

Then with the trees come willingly, partake,

In company of leaves and birds, who also fly

As my soul will and does unto the sky,

Of this most holy time. Your spirit wake

To see the world your sister, brother, friend,

Whose heart you break and help again to mend.