The pumpkin that was almost never picked*

I passed a pumpkin patch one peaceful afternoon

As a pleasant wind played at the prickly pumpkin vines

And birds piped away their placid tunes.

The pumpkin smell was poignant, the prime season past

Now old, pale pumpkins were perishing in the patch

And the perfect pumpkins picked were already put in pumpkin pies

All except one, a pitifully pretty, pure orange pumpkin

A procrastinating bloomer, a slow progress producer

Ripened post the pumpkin picking date.

I peered at this peculiar specimen, this gourd in its prime

For it was the most perfect pumpkin I had passed to this time

A pity it was left, perfectly alone,

Possibly passed by some picker, some un-patient person

Predestined never to be a pie or pretty decoration

So I, in my propitious way, proceeded to pick this pumpkin

And take it past this punishing place,

And from the persistent passing time

And make this pumpkin into a pie, to let it persist in the memory

Of the people who would partake in this pumpkin’s serendipity

So in this season of prayer and persistent thanks

Be the person who is not too painfully preoccupied

To perceive and to patiently be prepared to provide

To help make this planet a more positive place without pride

Now take this pumpkin’s parable

And remember that no matter how postponed

Everyone can have a positive part to play that no one can predict

Even a passed-by pumpkin that was almost never picked.

—Ashley Herber

*Campion Academy: Winning story of the Student Association pumpkin story writing competition