about the path out back, in the corn field ,
four hundred acres of tall golden silk,
adorned  in green sheaths,
immature product, where does it go?
This beaten down path?
And, who made it?
Was it two or four legged, or a field of dreams kind of thing?
It could not be more intriguing,
on this hot summer day to wander, could
it be?  Just leave all this behind and
possibly find the King
of the maize or a small rabbit friend?
Or a homeless person with a shack
of corn silk and golden stories,
nestled way back with a fire
and several ears roasting.
Or a band of Elvish women,
supernatural beauties,
chanting Norse songs
dancing in circles. I may have
to bring my dancing shoes.
Or butter.