Some made a bargain with the Devil
and boasted of their yields,
how tall, how many pounds,

even how hard it was to turn
the earth with a simple spade.
Some spun yarns about

woodchucks caught in the act,
then poisoned like King Gonzago
or trapped in the fancies of Master Poe.

Some buried well-rotted droppings,
then Jack’s magic beans;
some kept Peter out of the carrot row.

My corn never brushed the heavens;
God and Satan left me alone.
My tomatoes were mediocre,

my lettuce bitter in the heat.
Still I counted every modest thing
twice, and called the world fair.