rises to the sky

like a shining golden pole

reaching to the sun

from the top of the stalk

seven heads of grain appear

each as big as my palace

below them

seven small heads of grain

pop out of the stalk

the seven small heads

wave around

I hear their tiny cries

of anguish

as they shrivel

in the hot wind

that blows fiercely

from the east

the seven little heads of grain

are hungry

they

slide up the stalk

till they reach

the huge heads of grain

at the top

the little heads

grow little mouths

and nibble

on the big heads of grain

they nibble and nibble

nothing can stop them

soon the big heads of grain

are gone

completely

but despite that

the little heads have eaten

they have not grown at all

now the vast stalk

has only seven tiny heads

sprouting from its top

the stalk shrinks

sways

and

falls