Red Currants

“Well! The red currants must be picked to-day. They’re ready for jelly” Grandmother would say. She never wasted words yet had her way. In cool gray cotton gown, and black straw hat Securely tied--She made a point of that Though no breeze stirred the lilacs where she sat To superintend old Jock and Marie Anne At tasks of picking. When her palm-leaf fan Waved slowly all was well; but my blood ran Quicker when it moved very fast ... one knew The hours were slipping past ... then old Jock too And Marie Anne, would pick with greater zest. “Granny! Red currant jelly’s much the best!” “Black’s best for colds” she’d say, as she caressed With firm kind fingers my rough curly head. She rarely kissed me. Deep within was bred Acid reserve and purity ... those red Ripe currants, with their pleasant acid tang, Seemed to me just like Grandmother! I sang My multiplication-tables till they rang Loud through the garden where dear Granny sat Smiling--well-pleased--with firmly-tied black hat!