Song Of The Banana

When winds are warm first shows my leaf, And skies of blue are seen; While tropic suns unroll the sheaf To waving flags of green. My trunk’s herbaceous, smooth, and strong, My honeyed flowers fair; My yellow fruit in clusters long Is sweet beyond compare. ’Tis still delicious, cooked or raw, Or when to flour ’tis ground; My leaves are used, instead of straw, For packing dishes round. Look closely at their under side, A store of wax you’ll see; ’Tis made while here at home I bide, Not gadding, like the bee. And listen! Who would ever think, My juices you might use To make a kind of marking ink, And blacking for your shoes! But that’s not all, the tale is one In many chapters told; My stem must o’er its story run, And all its wealth unfold. Just feel its texture; hemp is made Of just this kind of thing, Twist it for ropes, for matting braid, Or weave it for the king In handkerchiefs of finest lace, That through a ring could pass, And pattern such as spiders trace Upon the dewy grass. I’m the Banana, who but I! My aid to man I lend; If wealth you want, for comfort sigh, Then make of me your friend.