First Song

Then it was dusk in Illinois
A small boy, after an afternoon of carting dung, hung,
hung on a rail fence, a sapped thing,
so weary to cry

Dark was growing tall
He began to hear the pond frogs all calling on his ear
They were calling on his ear, they were calling on his ear
with what seemed their joy

Soon the sound was pleasant for a boy,
listening in the smoky, dusky nightfall of Illinois
And from the fields, two small boys came
bearing cornstalk violins

So they rubbed their cornstalk bows with resins
and the three just sat there,
scraping of the joy, of the joy,
they're scraping of the joy

It was now fine music
the frogs and the boys did
in the towering Illinois twilight,
making into dark in spite of a shoulder's ache

A boy's hunched body loved out of a stalk
the first song of his happiness
and the song woke his heart
to the darkness and sadness of joy

Dark was growing tall
He began to hear the pond frogs all calling on his ear
They were calling on his ear, they were calling on his ear
with what seemed their joy