Classic and Contemporary Poetry

OATS WILD TURN MILD, by THRALL BUELL
First Line: I think of my life as a planting
Last Line: Last night I held my child.

I think of my life as a planting,
A sowing of seeds more or less;
Some have yielded fine foliage,
Others mere pottage -- a mess.
I have also sown many an oat crop,
The variety well known as wild,
But those days are gone forever --
Last night I held my child.