Country Buffet Trip Two

These flowers grow in the shape of a man
He must have been quite nourishing
Perhaps well nourished himself
I imagine him portly but with ruddy cheeks
A joy at the Holidays, with compliments
For the cook, a peck on the cheek
He was himself a well marbled steak
Had his house caught fire, slowly
He would have made a fine jerky
But no he fell here in the field
It's hard to tell just why he fell
Perhaps his heart gave out
Perhaps his spleen
It might have been old age
Or old aged cheddar
Whatever the case, not even bones remain
I think a fortnight ago I spied
A shrunken figure carrying off sticks
For some paltry fire I had pictured
But bones they might have been
Ground into a meal to feed other portly men
To make more flower beds
In the shape of well fed men.