Corn is a vegetable, a lovely grain,
But hardly everything it ought to be.
It growns in endless rows out on the plain,
A vast engulfing mimic of the sea.
Yet in that sea no fish can be allowed,
No kelp or other interloping plant.
It stands in monoculture, tall and proud,
Not since it will not share, but since it can't.
We keep it safe from everything but us
And so devour all it can provide;
I barely doubt it will be ever thus,
And naught but corn will ever grow outside
While we shall live under the shade of ears
Grown ever taller with the passing years.
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