the pepon tale

mistaken for a squash, I am a ribbed smooth rind

my eldest brother now weighs a dozen times you

of irish tales, to me the devil  and jack, not so kind

tropicana of albus’ folks,  my juice is mirth though.

from pie, yaqtin, kadu, tempura, dessert and ravioli

i travel the world west to east, boiled baked roasted

also for massiveness game, my masters so boasted

last not least, trebuchets test the chucking out of me.

mostly  second third rainbow hues, glowing in thoughts

pity the southern ocean never sees me, all others do

nine tenth aqua, source for definitely something i am

favorite of witches, my self-proclaimed nativity is illinois.

spooktacular,  baby boo & bear, sweetie pie, jack-be-quick

the moron carried me all his life, argh..devil. jack’o lantern

brains squashed, hallows evening carves me with million faces,

glimmering scary, welcome to the tale of  yours truly, a pumpkin.

neither the door stop, nor the attic please, after the night

either to eat or for fusion trials, too i am not best served;

inter i bless the earth, genesis from the pepitas sounds good, 

for produce great pumpkins, and the pies will follow.

for like men, either all of our good ones are taken 

or everything scraped out of our head with a spoon..