BURY this old Illinois farmer with respect. He slept the Illinois nights of his life after days of work in Illinois cornfields. Now he goes on a long sleep. The wind he listened to in the cornsilk and the tassels, the wind that combed his red beard zero mornings when the snow lay white on the yellow ears in the bushel basket at the corncrib, The same wind will now blow over the place here where his hands must dream of Illinois corn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAITH by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 3. TEESTAY by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE DESIRE OF NATIONS by EDWIN MARKHAM SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EDITH CONANT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SONG OF THE MOON by CLAUDE MCKAY |