The corn is nigh on six feet tall along the mile
Long fields to and behind the house. This year, I will
be hemmed in
Held closed by this crop. This year I can bear that.
A few years since the last the corn grew,
Cloaking, Guarding sentinels.
This year I can tolerate if no longer embrace how
The corn limits views. Only this year do I feel strength
To do so.
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