Is she ugly, is she pretty?
Keep your thinking eyes
closed to
uncertainty.
Fields of bean and corn,
she’s so lonely,
she’s never alone.
She believes
nothing lasts forever.
She’s so unhappy,
Or is she
happy there?
Fields of pig and cow,
you can see her naked now.
Do they love her, do they love her?
The birds do sing.
Oh, sunrise, sunrise.
A rose,
indeed.
Fields of mud and showers,
someone must pay for the flowers or
something.

Eric Lee Short is just like any other writer, only more so. Read more here.