Love is Strawberries

Sometimes love is a field of wild strawberries;
Assorted shapes, sizes, colours, tastes,
Growing in patches and amongst wild flowers,
On runners that run low, or grow tall as towers.

Sometimes love is a pick-your-own;
Fill your wee basket with the juiciest, sweetest,
Most vibrant fruits of nature’s harvest,
Eagle-eyed, swoop and grab, swift as a carvist.

Sometimes love is a value pack from Tesco;
Sacrifice some of the sweetness for convenience,
But perfectly adequate with sugar and cream,
And one person’s slightly-green is another one’s dream.

Sometimes it is a giant pick’n’mix sweetie,
Or a fizzy strawberry lace, or a soft haribo foam,
With artificial sweetener, or real fruit juice, or both;
E129, B12, C, and D To fortify growth.

Sometimes you’re not in the mood for strawberries,
Or maybe you just can’t eat them.
Maybe you’re a banana person through and through,
And that’s great too.