Extraterrestrial.

Crop circles in the cotton field; 
Intricate lies woven into white downy sheets... 
Aliens amass from the lowest stalk; 
Golden seed, not quite ivory 
Not quite ebony; 
A misfit; unfit... 
Befuddled; 
Human, 
But foreign, nonetheless; 

Golden-bronze seed; 
Belonging to the cotton, 
The only mother that has ever dared call it a son; 
The stifling wind, the only father it has ever known. 

Bastard seed of the cotton field; 
Snatched away from his mother's downy, cotton bosom... 
Not quite ebony, 
Not quite ivory; 
Pitied and accepted, 
Yet rejected just the same; 

Alien, golden-bronze seed 
Weaving crop circles into the cotton field; 
Complex patterns, mysteriously etched into the space 
Where he had lain; 
Misfit; unfit... 
Not quite foreign, 
But neither human; 

Extraterrestrial, 
Child of the cotton field.