Coming Home
A stately grace of elms surrounds
a farmhouse of the better sort,
and yonder squares of apple trees
bivouac like armies flush from
red and gold battle, having marched
night and day by general order,
until they come up to the Sherman,
or the Grant of that genius farm...
...who orders agriculture’s armies
as he cast long view across the
windswept fields of billowing grains
that fall like young men in their prime,
and rise like all who have gone down!
The pepper of the pollen in the air
is a covenant which we hold dear,
and the far away copse of poplars
‘long the winding shore of the creek
is a promise that shall be kept!
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