[Douglas G. Brown]

The first line of which is "When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock, "


“When the heat is on the punkin’ … then a pie is being born…”
If I could be but one king, I’d be the King of Corn.
My backwoods aphorisms sure would wow ‘em in Carlisle;
In joyous paroxysms, they’d be rolling in the aisles.
And if I played Sheboygan, the critics there would gush,
And write “No other boy can create such awesome mush.”
From Atlantic to Pacific, I would win undying fame;
They’d say “That rube’s terrific!” at the mention of my name.
My talent would support me and I’d take the world by storm,
Where royalty would court me and the Pope would praise my form.

But talent is God-given, and wit’s a fickle muse;
So, much as I have striven, I must ultimately lose.
I lack comedic mettle, though my ignorance is bliss;
I guess I’ll have to settle for doggerel like this.