By Elizabeth Madox Roberts
I went across the pasture lot
When not a one was watching me.
Away beyond the cattle barns
I climbed a little crooked tree.
And I could look down on the field
And see the corn and how it grows.
Across the world and up and down
In very straight and even rows.
And far away and far away-
I wonder if the farmer man
Knows all about the corn and how
It comes together like a fan.
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