Rows of Corn
Plump golden sweet corn
Impatient as a clown’s nervous smile
Rebelling against the bluebonnet sky
Marching in place in long fingered rows
Growing, in once fallow fields
by the babbling brook
wandering through the cool green valley
Aimless wildflowers dawdle through late May
Awaiting the corn, sun, and
the long anticipated summer
Then all dance as one dream
You sure know how to turn cornfields into poetry!
Borut: Thanks. I guess I’m running out of things to write poems about. LOL.
Another good one, and I don’t think you’ll ever run out of things to make poems out of…
Sensory rich, Don!
beautiful imagery here…
Aurora: Thanks. Good way to describe it.
Polona: Thank you. Corn is not something I write about often, but seemed like it deserved its own poem. Of course, if you are a farmer in Iowa, corn is poetic; even corny!