Poem, Poet, 41
You would think by Autumn one would know
That blue cornflowers close at night,
That raccoons call to each other down at Blossom Creek, .
That dry corn stalks speak of winter to the moon.
l stole swiftly through the flowers· and the corn
To see her,
Whom I chased that summer through the cornfields,
Chased her down the rows that whispered in the night,.
Until I caught her and we fell in love.
Bieder, Robert E.
"Postcards Of The Mind,"
Swiss American Historical Society Review: Vol. 55:
3, Article 3.
Available at: https://scholarsarchive.byu.edu/sahs_review/vol55/iss3/3