It’s finally time,
the first pickings of the raspberry bush.
You’ve been watching them grow for months and they’re finally ready.

Excitement overcomes you,
and you’re rushing her into the garden
with your light up shoes and a Tupperware box.

However, the excitement does not mean you will rush,
you savour every moment; carefully teasing the raspberry off its core.
This is the best time of the year and you do not want to ruin it.

As the years go by, and the raspberry bushes multiply,
resulting in more time spent together and more Tupperware boxes.
But you begin to take those raspberries for granted; and though you won’t admit, the excitement dwindles.

Like you, the raspberries age
and with every summer’s end, they get old and start to wither away
What you don’t notice is that she is too.

Your grandmother,
like the raspberries; wrinkles and decays
until one day there are no more raspberries and no grandmother to pick them with.