Corn

I stand amid the crowds of corns
at endless fields in farms.
I took a peice to pleasure to my tongue,
for I've never tasted corn that never felt so wrong.

It was sweeter than the buttered kind,
and more bitter than added to much of salt.
It was rather wrong, to steal a farmer's corn,
and yet it tasted right like child to candy corn
with a bitter tongue.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2007

Poem

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