Your blonde silky hair is tasseled with expectancy
Each strand is eagerly delighted and enhanced
Growing perfectly beyond tender days of infancy
Channels swell with sweet kernels of excellence
Before time can allow tough fertile seeds to form
Your husk-cloaked ear of milky essence is grasped
Succulence is detached from security while still warm
Abandoned rows of childless stalks weep and gasp
Quickly bagged in burlap in dozens of five and iced
You are no longer free to laze around in the sun
You join in travel to the produce market for a price
Your days of basking leisurely in the field are done
Mixed aromas of onions, muskmelon and berries
Excite customers seeking fresh delights for dinner
A bountiful mound of sweet corn attracts commentary
You are among the first to be selected as a winner
Surrounding temperatures are climbing by degrees
You find yourself stripped and floating in a hot tub
Your multitudes of pale kernels brighten with intensity
Soon you are removed and coated with a butter rub
Now is not a time for grieving or feeling sad remorse
You have reached the peak of your purposeful existence
Moist lips are licked as your fine qualities are endorsed
You have given satisfaction and pleasurable sustenance
9/22/07
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your image of blond silky hair gets your 'corn' poem off to a great start. I'm sure most YUPPIES (do they call them that anymore now that they are older?) don't realize that corn must be harvested before it 'goes to seed.' The closest they come to nature is shucking the ears in the produce section of super-markets. I guess it's no fair that I am old enough to remember my great-great uncle Earl who each year moved a four post bed into his corn field. He slept with his 12 guage. He was not about to let the possums start an early harvest. Tom