You cannot follow. Run. Don't wait for it
To follow you. What comes out isn't born
But grown. Its clothes will never truly fit.
It has too many ears. But don't look now;
Now you should be running. It can't run
Faster than a combine. But don't try
To harvest it until you see the sun
Under the moonlight you, not it, will die.
The worst will come if you approach a cow:
Don't touch. Whatever you may do, don't touch.
I don't care how much you may want the milk.
It can make you want things far too much
And when you touch, you crumble like corn silk.
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