In the deep moist hollows, on the burnt acres
Suspended upon the mountain side, the crisp green corn
Tapers blunt to the fruiting tassel;
Long straight shafts of yellow poplar
Strike upward like prongs of lightning at the field's edge,
Dwarfing the tender blades, the jointed growth;
Crows haggle their dark feathers, glare beady eyes
Surveying the slanted crop from the poplar boughs
Opening purple beaks to cry the ripening feast,
And flow from their perch in heavy pointless flight.
A lizard, timid and tremulous, swallowing clots of air
With pulsing throat, pauses at the smooth trunk
And runs up the sky with liquid feet.