Corn hardly grows during day.
It needs the rustling sounds of love
At night to noctosynthesize
Its photo-sensitivities.
Come camp with me in the bittergreens—
The dandelions,
The clovers,
Until the sweet alfalfa blossoms
Shoot the merry moon.
And may even the joyous corn silk whispers
Kiss your spirit, your lips, your whiskers,
And rock your cradle of love unto your soul.
-jenn long
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