Way up in cold blue Ontario
Hidden among the lakes and trees
There is a rambling blueberry field
Barren except for granite boulders
Wonderful to climb up over
A waste space that will never
Get settled except by blueberry
Bushes and some children lusty
Enough to find it out wandering
Or by an old man remembering
To go there on just the right ripening
Day when their scent is in the wind
The blue taste of memory
And the violet wine of forgetfulness
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