When on the road to Monon from the north
You'll pass a great monotony of corn.
Just drive on, you'll get your money's worth
Of seeing green until your eyes are worn
From the abundant light off every leaf.
Tank up and talk of bushels per acre.
Don't talk yourself to sleep; this life's too brief
As it is; don't want to meet your maker
Any time soon. The trucks will growl you back
Into your concentration as they rush
Against the air that rides with you. Keep track
Of where you are and what you want. A brush
With the end might wake you to what you are:
Some light that rides beside you in the car.