Last Huckleberry Patch

The huckleberries hide beneath the pine and cedar trees

I've picked them on this hillside,

carried by the mountain breeze

The logging trucks are coming,

the trees will all be gone

And I will pick the final berries

beneath the quiet dawn.

I'm the huckleberry picker's last patch,

the berries sweet and blue

I'll fill my bucket one last time with memories old and new

The bears and birds will miss them,

but I will always taste

The wildness of the mountain,

the love I can't replace.

My mother brought me here as a child,

to learn the secret places

The bushes that gave the sweetest fruit,

the shaded open spaces

We'd pick and sing and talk of life,

the mountain was our home

And now the mountain's being torn,

and I will roam alone.

I kneel among the bushes,

I pick with gentle care

I taste the final berry,

I breathe the mountain air

The logger's chainsaw whines below,

the trees begin to fall

But I have picked my memories,

the sweetest of them all.

I'm the huckleberry picker's last patch,

the berries sweet and blue

I'll fill my bucket one last time with memories old and new

The bears and birds will miss them,

but I will always taste

The wildness of the mountain,

the love I can't replace.

Can't replace.