From the whorl of husk leaves
At the end of each ear
Grow gossamer threads
Like a tuft of soft hair
Nuggets of grain
Like rows of gold teeth
Burst with sweet milk
Between stem and leaf sheath
It is strange to consider
That corn is just grass
Its cob holds much fruit
That has not grown en masse
As a crop it’s pervaded
Its dominance complete
Yet I think of corn only
As a good thing to eat
For maize does amaze
It is so versatile
Prepared without fuss
I will eat with a smile
A true summer crop
That is wolfed down with zest
Served buttered and salted
I think it tastes best!