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.
1878 - 1967/Male/AmericanA poet, writer, and editor known for his contemporary literature.
View profile & all 50 Poems / StoriesMy head knocks against the stars.My feet are on the hilltops.
I am the ******.Singer of songs,
I could love youas dry roots love rain.
Wilson and Pilcer and Snack stood before the zoo elephant. Wilson said, "What is its name? Is it from Asia or Africa? Who feedsit? Is it a he or a she? How old is it? Do they have twins? How much does
Musings of a Police Reporter in the Identification BureauYou have loved forty women, but you have only one thumb.You have led a hundred secret lives, but you mark only
