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    Morning over the bay

    Autumn Corn

    Kayla Kleinsasser (age 16)

    November 17, 2011
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    The cornstalks stand in their brown lines
    Rustling hoarsely in the cool autumn breeze
    The sun beams warmly from a cloudless blue
    And the earth greedily sponges up the last drops of gold.

    Nature won’t tell us; it’s her secret
    But the traitor birds, fleeing an enemy they have never met
    Warn that an unconquerable foe is approaching
    And the friendly sun will soon become a cold spectator
    A pale eye in a pale-complexioned sky.

    And the cornstalks still stand in their thin brown lines
    Knowing as their dry leaves rattle, sabre-like, against their knees,
    That there will be no quarter shown, no mercy given
    When the frost-daggers appear, pointed unerringly at their hearts.

    But still they stand,
    Stubborn
    Strong
    Fierce
    Guarding their dry yellow hoard
    Until the gentle deer
    Silently steal it away.

    A cornfield in the sun
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