WHAT THE CORN SAYS

I shoot in the merry month of May,

When flowers and birdies welcome the day;

My ears I fill in the month of July,

When the bumble bee goes buzzing by. 

In August I tremble like a leaf on a tree,

As the gentle breezes blow over me;

In September I fall at the reaper’s call,

In December I reach the ass in his stall.

Robert Greer Age 13

Tullygrawley School