Last night, alone,
he saw the rising moon set silver fires among his stalks of corn
and watched the tassels burn like candlewicks.
At dawn he saw the noisy crows return.
They know him for a friend,
this man of sticks in boots that dangle just above the dirt,
the handle of a rake shoved through his shirt.
On summer days when grass around him sways
like wave that follows wave upon the ocean,
I've seen him shake, a dancer on a stake,
as if he feels a music in the motion.
And once I saw his round astonished eyes observe
with more than painted-on surprise
a black snake flow like water down a hole,
and heard him sing upon his wooden pole.
~ Unkown
