Hail to thee blithe kernel!
Great assuager of the petty hunger
Born from a violent burst
Phoenix rising from an oil bed
Buttered legions that allay
Our empty stomachs in distress
Greasiness spreading from bowl to hands.
How it is that we abuse you,
Munch and crunch and sorely use you,
But if, oh golden kernel, you despiar -
Remember - that if we are fair,
The cow is great
But hasn't teeth which need repair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.