Fifty miles or more along the state roads;
The grain is hanging there by the truck load.
Ragged and tattered, wind- blown and bent
Sixteen- rows of corn, a highway accent.
The soft flakes pile up on the plants cold feet
As the corn stocks protect the cement street.
Not as much need for snow plows and graders.
Perhaps they won’t be needed until later.
The wild life are coming up to the plate.
Deer pull off the grain before it’s too late.
And pheasants come in hungry, noisy flocks
Competing with the Bald Eagles and fox.
By Spring, the standing corn becomes weaker.
It’s done its job, and couldn’t be neater.
Who was responsible for this plan?
Is it the owners of all of this Land?
Then a big white sign I happen to see;
When I was driving on highway three.
“Standing Corn, Snow Fence Program
Sponsored by IOWA D.O.T.”