Old Couple Cutting off Corn
They live in a little whitewashed house
In the valley where they were born;
And autumn finds this couple in the corn fields,
Cutting off corn.
The old man's mouth is tobacco-stained
And wrinkled by ribald fun.
His trousers are the color of forget-me-nots
Bleached by the sun.
The old woman's cheeks are like dried peaches;
Her birdlike eyes are gay.
She wears black stocking-legs on her arms
And her skirt is sky-gray.
Whack!. . .Whack!. . .down the ripening rows
Of green stalks streaked with gold;
And the knives they wield have been ground on a grindstone,
A century old.
Whack!. . .Whack!. . .the tall stalks topple
In the raw faintly purple air;
And a half of the crisp sweet-smelling fodder
Is their laborer's share.
These two own the little whitewashed house
And an acre of stony ground.
They keep a few hens, a pig and a cow,
And work around.
“Folks hate to live off of the government
In the valley where we were born.”
So autumn finds this couple in the corn fields,
Cutting off corn.
There is the Breaking
Under the web of dark naked branches
My footfalls make a stir
In the rustly drifts of copper leaves,
Tinged with lavender.
The winds keep sighing in the brown scrub oaks;
Caw . . . caw . . . the treetops cry;
And I catch a glimpse of soot-black wings
Fanning a blue-gray sky.
There is the breaking of a lonely heart
In every woodland sound
That echoes through autumn's labyrinths
From sky and bush and ground.




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