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From the poem "Somewhere Spring Approached" by Pavlo Tychnya:

The rye ripened. I told her: "You're Golden!"
Angrily her eyebrows splintered.
She turned away. And left.
And just kept looking back -
As though she were calling out: "Come!"

It turns out that rye is planted over the fall, grown over the winter and harvested in early spring, so that much I understand. Also, from pictures of it, it does appear to be golden. That being said, why does the rye react "angrily" to that?

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