Cornfields, or, a Lesson in Choice

Cornfields, or, a Lesson in Choice

“This field looks awfully barren”,
he said, looking out the windows.
“This field looks free”
I thought, leaning over his arm.
“It’s true”, he said, “they picked all the corn last week.”
“I know” I said.
They were storing it in the silo,
surrounded by crows pecking holes in the earth,
hoping to unearth a tight yellow seedling.
“I would like to be a farmer”, he told me.
“I’d like that”, I said,
“For then I’d till my own field,
and not keep it barren, but free”
I thought.