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