According to the scriptures - poem

Just weeks before the last frost

of spring, in equal rows I sow,

back and forth, in the rich loamy soil,

as both the Qur'an and Shakespeare

suggest I plough

this, my farm, well; and reap from its toil

a respite from the sun-drawn thirst,

until the leaves meet between the rows

and completely shade me in the ground.

Then a stem rises high enough,

bearing numerous yellow flowers.

It is time.

I bend over and kiss your turnips,

flattened, white-fleshed, loamy,

pink and then purple to touch, warm;

and they grow, upturn, invert

in the mouth - crowned

each by

a nipple.

COPYRIGHT 1994 Fairleigh Dickinson University
COPYRIGHT 2004 Gale Group