The brittle corn stalks lay in shambled delight,
a long faded memory of August's sight.
In the greenest of minds the eye catches on,
to the strains of labor frosty,a nd gone.
By the sins of our fathers, all snugly in bed,
to the dreams of the feeble inside of their head.
From the trees that grow tall and reach for the sky,
to the birds that take shelter and sing by and by.
The earth worm digs holes, the waiter serves tea,
all have their places, all except me.