We Are The Corn

The corn grows sun ripe in the fields;
Wind blowing it as the sun rises
To greet the farmer on his way to
The fields to harvest the yellow corn.

Soon the scythe cuts swaths in the corn.
The farmer moving slowly through the
Fields gathering his corn carefully
As if it was his own flesh and blood.

But the farmer has other designs.
He cares little for his own as he
Will eat it whenever he is able
To with little regard for damage.

The field lies dry in the autumn now.
New seed has been sown as it has been
Every year since the farmer wants
To survive but we are that corn!

But he is your God and your Father!
He sows our souls every year in
The soil that is the earth yet cares not
If we suffer just that he is loved.