… wherever the Boy went the Rabbit went too. He had rides in the wheelbarrow, and picnics on the grass, and lovely fairy huts built for him under the raspberry canes …
“The Velveteen Rabbit,” by Margery Williams
Blackberry brambles too make fine huts for hares –
I think I spotted a velvety brown one at dusk-
but I have to ask, what is the purpose of the cane?
After the second year, it bears no flowers or fruit,
only serving as a flag to mark where I must battle
for my just deserts, walking away red-handed
with berry juice and my own blood.
Yes, with their thorns they preserve the fruit
from marauders like me, but why
do they grow so tall? Where
are they trying to go?
And is it my fruitless, blossomless state
that makes me feel kinship
with those thorny branches past their prime?–
Who only persist because no one has cut them down?–
Or is it because I guessed before I knew
that even discarded branches have some use?
You can make paper and natural dye, brew up some tea,
and using a cane as a pen, write blackberry poetry.