There once was a cuke
who wished she was a ‘mater.

She longed to be round,
thought it would elevate her
standing in the garden.

But the more she tried to cater
to specs of red and juicy
she got all bent out of shape.

Just be yourself, cuke,
everyone else’s taken.
You’re shape’s just not orb-like,
you’re more like a snake, and

whether pickled or on a nacho,
the world is your gazpacho.

So be a cuke and not a ‘mater,
not some warped, pale imitator.

And as the garden goes to seed,
live it up; grow like a weed —
like a weed, be unencumbered,
for you’re an exquisite green cucumber.
-Em : )