then it was dusk in illinois   a small boy, after an afternoon of carting dung hung   on a rail fence, a sapped thing   weary to crying      dark was growing tall   he began to hear the pond frogs all calling on his ear   they were calling on his ears with what seemed their joy      soon the sound was pleasant for a boy   listening in the smoky dusk and nightfall of illinois   and from the fields two small boys came   bearing cornstalk violins   so they rubbed the cornstalk bows with resins   and the three just sat there scraping of the joy   of their joy, they’re scraping of the joy      it was now fine music   the frogs and the boys did   in the towering illinois twilight make and into dark   in spite 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 into 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 with what seemed their joy