The Last
Corn Shock
by Glenn Ward Dresbach 1889-1968
I
remember how we stood
In the field, while far away
Blue hazes drifted on from hill to hill
And curled like smoke from many a sunset wood,
And the loaded wagon creaked while standing still . . .
I heard my father say,
" The last corn shock can stay. "
We had seen a pheasant there
In the sun; he went inside
As if he claimed the shock, as if he meant
To show us, with the field so nearly bare,
We had no right to take his rustic tent.
And so we circled wide
For home, and let him hide.
The first wild ducks flashed by
Where the pasture brook could hold
The sunset at the curve, and drifting floss
Escaped the wind and clung. The shocks were dry
And rustled on the wagon. Far across
The field, against the cold,
The last shock turned to gold.
