Among the corn

Oh, the corn, it was waving so,

that I had to grab you.

I could not let go of your hand,

for my soul was waving so.

And the corn, it moved so gently,

and sang in its summer ears;

and deep in my soul it went,

a wonderful melody.

Oh, our hands are acting as though they are drunk,

gently your fingers tapped -

and your head upon mine, your conquerer's

breast, you let sink.