When my mane is a bob and my bob is a mane,
I long for my dress, and my dress sheds rays.
When the stars look down and shine in colors,
Reminding us that we had antlers,
I know, I’m more than only me.
I’m people, I’m colors, I’m dust in disguise,
I’m fluids, walking fluids, and sober eyes,
I’m peppers and corns, I’m brambles with thorns,
I’m thirsty, enchanted, and gallant-torn.
Welcome me into the fields of rye,
Where the yellow feeds the sky with play.