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...EXPLICATION OF AN IMAGINARY TEXT by JAMES GALVIN THE IMPORTANCE OF GREEN by JAMES GALVIN I'M GOING BACK TO SOMETHING by DAVID IGNATOW A JOYFUL SONG OF FIVE by KATHERINE MANSFIELD FAIR HARVARD by GEORGE SANTAYANA A VALENTINE TO SHERWOOD ANDERSON by GERTRUDE STEIN |