Ode to a Pickle

On earth there are many varietal veggies

That we humans consume with pomp and tickle.

But none of them drive one to say “yes, please

Like the salty, sweet taste of a glorious pickle.

Born in forms short, long, thin, and thick,

A compliment to many a delicious dish.

The pickle comes strong like an owl that swoops

Though not quite a silent stick.

It draws your coos and caws,

Like a cheeky baby or playful kitten.

In the wild where they grow, they’re not hard to catch

Beginning right after the winter frost goes.

But not quite a pickle when starting from scratch,

Still just a cucumber, tail to nose.

Vines that extend, and smother, and grow.

Curly tendrils that cover wide open space.

Spiky white flowers ready to flirt,

To grow a baby cucumber you know!

Not quite a pickle, but on its way.

Six hours of sun each and every day.

Once you find that they are ready to pull,

The cucumbers are close to pickly status.

Just a few more weeks fermenting to full,

Aside from that time, near totally gratis!

Nature provides like a mother to all,

Then humbly we take and prepare for the maw,

Down gullet to gut, divine is the feast

When hungry a pickle to answer the call.

From seed to stomach, a wonderful journey.

Especially when a pickle we nosh.