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 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.