I'm a cabbage patch kid

Probably a product of my mother's misdid

I was once told

I was left on the doorstep in the cold.

I started out growing in the concrete garden of life

And moved to a softer pasture that offered less strife

My gardener was older and watered me the best she knew how

Gave me basic recipes and salad teachings, things I carry until now.

There have been times I've wondered why I was born

Maybe I wasn't born among the cabbages, but instead the corn

I have many uses. I'm many types. My personality you could devour

But on the outside I'm a field grass, adorned with a silky flower.

It really doesn't matter whether it's the cabbages or the corn

I am thankful I did not join the shady spot of the unborn

Where roses and daffodils play with butterflies amid

I till my own garden, harvesting thoughts of a cabbage patch kid.

copyright 2000 by Mari

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