Wamber Graves of Maine

[Frame]

Amber waves of grain
Gleaming in the morning sun
From the corner of my eye

Gently bend to the rush of on coming traffic
Tenacious weeds scream back at the madness
of slavery and automobiles

Do we listen, do we hear?
Do we punch the wall
or wind up our day with a cup of coffee?

When does this all start to make sense
or at least, not matter?
Why, everyday, do I wake up
and it still matters?

[4EverMe]

Dang...I hear you Frame! Wish I had some answers...