For you (whose eyes were opened wide whilst mine refused to see)    I'm sore in need of saving grace. Be kind and humour me   I'm lost amidst a sea of wheat    where people speak but seldom meet    And grief and laughter, strange but true    Although they die, they seldom cry       An ode by any other name I know might read more sweet    Perhaps the sun will never shine upon my field of wheat    But still in closing, let me say    for those too sick, too sick to see    though nothing shows, yes, someone knows    I wish that one was me