My typical poetic style is to include as much horrible rhyming and as many groan-inducing puns as I can fit onto one sheet of paper.
Today I’m trying something different. I hope you enjoy these thoughts about one of the symbols of harvest time: corn.
Colored kernels on a cob
Dried husks tied in threes
Does the red taste different from the purple?
Or the black?
Green fields turned brown
Stalk tips touch the sky
Becoming mazes of maize
like lost teeth looking for a fairy