Cornfield
by Henry Burt Stevens
03/07/2005
the neighbor's cornfield
clad in ice and snow
sparkles in the sunlight
as crows pick at stubble
looking for a stray grain
that escaped the flocks
of geese who devoured
last fall the spill of harvest
come spring, thawing, melting
drying dirt enough to plough
harrow seed and feed
a new crop of green shoots
growing taller than any man
but chopped to silage and lugged
away in one pass- the machine
turning the whole field again to stubble
it seems i see the universe
mirrored in the cornfield, its
ordinary presence, simplicity
with beauty, quietness with peace.
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