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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!

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