Grown Poem
Vain,
Pain,
Lame,
Stained,
Rank,
Crazy,
Grain of Salt in the Recipe,
Perpetually messing with the direction of flavor,
We can savor it NOW or LATER,
Or bade a dew to something new,
If it is to be new,
I hope to meet its Creator.
Serve it as its waiter,
NOT as a side of any old taters...
But show that it is made for an “elevator up...”
Then toast with a cup,
Of “This Schwizer just got nicer and that is definitely what is freaking up!!!”
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