By Louise Owen

The black sky tingles
with a million white stars;
Blue burns Serius
red burns Mars.
Venus in the east
hangs bigger than a moon,
and the green-laced horizon
says dawn will be soon.

And the farmer wakes up, and the farmer boy rouses,
and the lights go on in the little white houses

Early fires smoke
is lighter than the sky;
in a hundred skillets
bacon goes to fry.
In a hundred coffee pots
coffee bubbles up,
and a hundred farmers wives
drink their first blessed cup

And the cows grow restless , and the farm boys yawn,
and in big red barns all the morning lights go on

The warm milk rings
in the bottom of the pails;
the warm milk foams
and the cows switch their tails.
The school children shiver
and stretch their little legs,
and run to the henhouse
to pick the morning eggs

The chimney smoke is pink in the light of the dawn;
the sky is like a roman sash, the morning star is gone.
The sun stands up with a laugh, with a shout,
and in all the little houses the lights go out.