Look at songs
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hen the morning sun is on the trumpet-vine blossoms,sing at the kitchen pans: Shout All Over God’sHeaven. When the rain slants on the potato hills and the sunplays a silver shaft on the last shower, sing to thebush at the backyard fence: Mighty Lak a Rose. When the icy sleet pounds on the storm windows andthe house lifts to a great breath, sing for the out-side hills: The Ole Sheep Done Know the Road,the Young Lambs Must Find the Way. Spring slips back with a girl face calling always: “ Anynew songs for me? Any new songs?” O prairie girl, be lonely, singing, dreaming, waiting—your lover comes—your child comes—the yearscreep with toes of April rain on new-turned sod. O prairie girl, whoever leaves you only crimson poppiesto talk with, whoever puts a good-by kiss on yourlips and never comes back— There is a song deep as the falltime redhaws, long asthe layer of black loam we go to, the shine of themorning star over the corn belt, the wave line ofdawn up a wheat valley. ° je e
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