Buttered Corn

My aunt and uncle's mailing address Was in Auburn, Wyoming But they actually lived just across The border in Idaho. We went to visit them once When I was just a lad, My sister and two brothers With my mom and dad. My two younger sisters Had not yet been born And we got into trouble Over buttered corn. They served us hot corn on the cob And boy, did it taste great! We slathered on the butter; It made pools on our plates. We also freely sprinkled salt Because we loved the taste. We gave our dad cause to find fault Because of our great waste. My father got quite angry But didn't say a word, That is, until much later When he could not be heard By my poor aunt and uncle. He scolded us quite firmly And made us feel ashamed. Because we were so wasteful We really should be blamed. As punishment he told us That never, never more Could we put butter on our corn. Now wait- -there is yet more: Salt was forbidden, too. From joyous pigs an hour before, We now were feeling blue. This new edict caused us to mutter. How could we live without our butter? And so we did devise a plan We thought just might fool our Old Man. We were still allowed To put butter on our bread And so we did And slightly thicker than usual But not so much That Dad would notice (we hoped) And then when he wasn't looking We would roll the cob of corn Across the slice of bread. I don't remember now If we got caught doing this Or if I just got tired Of trying to fool him But I did stop doing it And to this day More than sixty years later I do not put salt Or butter on my corn. I actually like it that way.