As Keen as Rye

I wish I were in a place lush and green,

Than the place I have been is rather dusty and dry.

It is longer or shorter than it's seem,

I look around my ground and feel like I want to cry.

It is so lifeless and I try,

I want to fly away in my dream.

I do not know why,

I feel like I want to scream.

To travel to a place that is very high,

Is what I mean.

From food banks I like to eat rye,

It keeps my brain and body lean and keen.

Sad people do make me sigh,

From that of which I have seen.

The time that I go traveling by,

Is the time that I have been.

I am not going to lie,

I eat the cans of the bean.

Asking why,

Everyone is in sin.

The bird does fly,

Way up there in that sky.

My, oh my.

Will I ever finish this poem before I die?

Everything goes around,

Past the sky and...

past the ground,

This bread is very bland.