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When the corn stands yellow in September,
A red flower ripens and shines among the stalks
And a red silk creeps among the broad ears
And tall tassels lift over all else
and keep a singing to the prairies and the wind.

They are the grand lone ones
For they are never saved along with the corn:
They are cut down and piled high and burned.
Their fire lights the west in November.  

-Carl Sandburg
Pinegreenwoods Poetry Path