My corn is ripe.
In fact, it is my wife’s corn.
It is ripe and delicious to eat.
We didn’t plan to become farmers
We are city folk with city children
Who thought Barney poo’ed cornflakes
And corns are planted under mattresses.
High rents and traffic jams
Scared us off into paradise:
We landed in Kokrobite
With little to do.
So… my wife planted corn
And I watched it grow
The children called it play ground
And welcomed the young sprouts
With kicks and stampedes
But some survived as some always do.
Now our corn is ripe and delicious to taste.