My dream was too spectacular,
It was of the pumpkin patch.
Costumers came car after car,
They bought pumpkins from the thatch.
Multi-color pumpkins, including corn,
Green, white and orange of many sizes.
Some stems are perfect, but most are torn,
But nobody cares, unless there is a crisis.
The foul smell of rotten pumpkin guts,
Envelop the dumpster out back.
The odor smelt worse than a dog hut,
When cleaning the swine was of certain lack.
Most days the pumpkin patch is where I'll be,
When most of my friends are out by the sea.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem