The time of brown gold comes softly.
Oat shocks are alive in brown gold belts,
the short and shambling oat shocks
sit on the stubble and straw.
The timothy hay, the fodder corn, the cabbage
and the potatoes, across their leaves are
footsteps.
There is a bold green up over the cracks in
the corn rows where the crickets go criss-
cross errands, where the bugs carry packages.
Flutter and whir, you birdies, you newcomers
in lines and sashes, tellers of harvest
weather on the way, belts of brown gold
coming softly.
It is very well the old-time streamers take
up the old-time gold haze against the western
timber line.
It is the old time again when months and birds
tell each other, "Oh, very well," and repeat it
where the fields and the timber lines meet
in belts of brown gold hazes, "Oh very
well, Oh very well."
-- Carl Sandburg
