Cornhuskers

The corn will ripen. When the corn is ripe it is so bright and yellow. The women will bring it in And sing songs of old. They gather it by basketfuls, They bring it to the fires, They enjoy the aroma and the glow, And on winter nights they will remember— The rivers that flow, The trees in bloom; except When the snow’s dark underneath The fields lie waiting that tomorrow May spring again into life.

• Carl Sandburg