Hard little grains of corn;
That’s probably why they were named
Grits.
It fits
Hard little grains of corn.
Take them and boil them
With a little salt.
Toss on some butter,
But why not some malt?
Grits.
It fits
Hard little grains of corn.
Alone, by themselves, unadulterated,
Except for salt or butter.
No sugar, no syrup,
No garnish, no clutter,
Just grits.
It fits
Hard little grains of corn.
Baking cookies is not my bag,
I tried it once, you see.
Someone put grits in the flour sack
Totally unknown to me.
Not cookies, just grits.
The name really fits
Those hard little grains of corn.
I ate them all to cover myself;
It took me nearly three weeks.
I’d be eating them still,
But for an iron will
To get rid of the grits.
The name that fits
Hard little cookies of corn.
You are very versatile in your writing. That is a gift. What a cute poem, though as a northern transplant, I would have written about oatmeal with cinnamon sugar. LOL.
ReplyDeleteThanks BeckyJoie. Just as you are a transplant from the NE extremity of our country, I am transplanted from the NW. I heard of grits when my aunt and uncle moved to Virginia. In fact he chose the term "Grits" in place of Rednecks when speaking of them.
ReplyDeleteI actually like grits, but not the way they are served in restaurants. I like them drowned in milk or Half & Half, with sugar or honey, and occasionally a sprinkle of cinnamon or nutmeg.
Go for it! I'd like to read a poem about oatmeal.