There is no match
To the strawberry patch
The sweet smell of a strawberry
Much more than an apple or cherry
Mama’s famous jams or jelly
Mom’s preserves will fill my belly
Picking strawberries as I sit in the row
Scooting back and forth on my bottom as I go
Looking at little runners growing here and there
Growing as a family making strawberries galore
Sweet orbs of red with an unmistakable taste
Mama cooks them in her pots never any waste
Every year towards the end of spring
Canning strawberries were my favorite thing
In the cold of winter, we would pull out little jars
Filled with strawberry preserves best by far
