I wrote my love a letter,
Then threw the thing away,
The corn has gotten very high,
There’s not much more to say
I did not use the proper font,
It didn’t bear inspection —
And this cornfield is all that’s left
Of my heart’s
Resurrection
To share is human:
Two summers now of corn and even that cut down by societies taboos. If one still didn’t care so much it would be corny!