Then, on a whim, I picked up fresh corn from the farmer up the road. I sat outside on the trailer's step, shucking it. I like to do it outside so I don't get silk and husks all over the house, and because then I can take that organic "trash" and feed it to my chickens right away. They love it when we have corn, because not only do they get the husks and silk, but they also get the cobs when we're done with them. Happy chickens!
Anyhow, I realized that corn was what I wanted to write about. Then I started thinking about how to write it. Most of my poetry isn't rhymed, but once in a while I get the urge to do something with a nice rhythm to it. This was one of those times. Someone pointed out to me that a ballad rhythm was nice to work with, and that you'd know it was "right" when you could sing the poem to the tune of Gilligan's Island. LOL! So that's what I did. Now see if you can read the poem without humming the tune... ;)
The Harvest at my Feet
If I close my eyes, I can still JUST feel
The stickiness of silk
Of papery husks that my fingers peel
From kernels filled with milk.
The scent of autumn fills my nose
And brings back memories
Of hay and heat and late bloom'd rose,
And fall's familiar peace.
The corn piled at my feet is fresh,
The husks now laid aside.
I can almost taste the saffron flesh
That farm fields do provide.