But the Earth Abides

The windmill squeaks, flaps broken vanes,
The barn needs paint, gates sag, weeds grow,
A manure pile leans against a shed,
Everywhere seeds that decay’s hands sow.

But good news, good news, a new owner comes
With his bride, paint cans, new-fangled machines,
Where the old man gave up the ghost and left
Once more clover learns what the sickle means.