Everything owned and nothing known

 I am not a farmer

I do not know this land

I cannot say whether the golden seeded strands beckoning the sky for a kiss, swaying, not dancing, as the growls of angry motorists pass by, caged into this sidewalk display, cemented in, just a flash of green along the busy byway, is prairie grass

Or 

The origins of all of this western culture.

This coffee grown elsewhere

This iPhone manufacture elsewhere

This Cotten shirt sewn elsewhere

This metal chair mined and smelted elsewhere

But like I said

I am not a farmer.