Emily Pauline Johnson

At Husking Time

    At husking time the tassel fades
    To brown above the yellow blades,
        Whose rustling sheath enswathes the corn
        That bursts its chrysalis in scorn
    Longer to lie in prison shades.

    Among the merry lads and maids
    The creaking ox-cart slowly wades
    Twixt stalks and stubble, sacked and torn
    At husking time.

    The prying pilot crow persuades
    The flock to join in thieving raids;
    The sly racoon with craft inborn
    His portion steals; from plenty's horn
    His pouch the saucy chipmunk lades
    At husking time.