[CH] To His Coy Plant (was When to Pick)
Alex Silbajoris (asilbajo@hotmail.com)
Mon, 15 Jul 2002 14:47:22 +0000
To His Coy Pepper Plant
with apologies to Andrew Marvell
Had we but garden space, and time,
This under-ripeness were no crime.
You could leaf out, and think which way
To ripen slowly through the day.
Thou, in the sun's unending light,
Should'st rubies grow; I by the side,
Perspiring, would complain. I would
love you before your first green pod,
And you might choose to stay unripe,
'Til I post to the list to gripe.
Capsaisinophilic love would grow,
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thy leaves, and on thy blossoms gaze.
Two hundred to adore each shoot,
Five hundred to ponder your root.
For, lady, you deserve this praise,
I'd love you still, through all my days.
But at my back I always hear
Frost's winged chariot drawing near;
And in the kitchen, even still,
No ripe pods do my vessels fill.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in they barren row will sound
Thy rustling leaves, then worms will taste
Thy still-green pods, now gone to waste.
The compost heap's a nice warm place,
But none, I think, go there for taste.
Now therefore, while your youthful hue
Of blooms glistens with morning dew,
And while your bursting leaves transpire,
And every pod fills up with fire,
Now let you ripen while ye may
So I may, in the kitchen, play
And so at once your heat devour,
Rather than wait these endless hours.
As I harvest your vibrant gifts,
My spirit to El Grande lifts.
Thus, though we cannot stop the frost,
Your hot perfection is not lost.
Alex Silbajoris
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