Sixteen pounds is an ounce these days
And not worth more than four.
And you can eat a bushel of corn
But your body will still want more
Because there aren't the same nutrients in here
That there were in just one heirloom ear.
The hybridized production year
Put the tractors in overdrive
And I guess the world has ended,
But no one stopped to see,
For seed time and harvest is over.
One last lonely bee
Ponders what world it may fly to
Where nature still pollinates,
And animals can still merely eat and poop
And the pits will actually proliferate
So that even humans and all their greed
And ingenuity can't screw that up.

-jenn