Cecil Red

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I am a raspberry
Plucked from my grandfather’s garden by his own loving hands
Sensitive, my skin is easily soiled
Turned purple by a grip too tight
I want him to choose me, amidst all the others on the vine.
Sour, a short shock on your tongue
Sweet, only rarely but truly
I need his tending to survive
Shove my way to the sun each day
Blend with the bunch when it’s dark or fitting
I am red, just like him
Bite me and my juice will flow
Lick and linger, you will be stained