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SUM OF LIVING, by                    
First Line: Here little houses multiply
Last Line: Is the sum of living everywhere.


Here little houses multiply
Against the loneliness of fields and sky,
Native as the lichened stone;
Weather-beaten; irresistibly grown
To the land.
Rain-blackened fences stand
About the barns and stable lot,
With litter of pigs and polyglot
Array of implements and farming gear,
Accumulated year by year,
By men committed to the soil,
With no recoil;
Enslaved by sun, and rain, and crops,
To the endless cycle that never stops.

Here life displays
The monotony of days.
Within its undertow
The slow,
Established rhythms of the earth,
Concerned with death and birth.

When evening presses down upon the fields,
And daylight yields,
The men go plodding home,
Across the multi-furrowed loam,
To wait upon and feed,
Anticipate the need
Of all,
In house and stall.
And then,
At the touch of dawn begin again,
And repeat the round of the day before.
But who does more
Than repeat himself -- whatever is his chore?
To work, to love, to herd together,
Through day and night to watch the weather,
Within, without, though foul or fair,
Is the sum of living everywhere.





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