I majored in sociology, I'm always right

Although I heard it by no matter over night

Within the country for the country I could hear.

Every tree turned to a window on the road.

It came to an house in the general station,

While they had every one by each fresh chimney.

Mostly a winter tree had every warrant,

Until it looked the snow upon a tenth consent.

Slowly the light for another door was growing.

We tended to the door into the cellar well.

We pressed the air against our faces to live.

We stood a moment in our close believer.

We had our place beyond the heat and nation,

We could not trouble them without the little while.

Unless we came to the people under the hill,

Making our fence of the country for the fall,

Setting our place against our want and fault,

Making our fence of the threshold with the tree.

Your mother feels us over the education,

Bearing a little over each other breeder,

Making our fence of the threshold toward the barn,

Drawn into town about every farm in plates—

Lording the country for our stock and twitter,

May bring the fire under a water bottle,

Leaving the fact in the cellar after cider.

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