THE SONG OF THE SUNFLOWER 



I sing with my feet in the soil of the free, 



A sun-woven crown I wear, 

 Rare nectar I give to the sweet-laden bee, 



And flaunt my bright banners in air; 

 The Sunflower State is the kingdom for me, 



Where the sun filters gold in the loam, 

 Where flocks and herds and the fruit-laden tree, 



And the corn tassels mind me of home. 



I flourish by trails on the high hill's brow, 



I lift me aloft in the vale, 

 Where the whistling farmer drives his plow, 



Or whirls his threshing flail; 

 Empires I sway in country and town, 



But gladly I yield my domain 

 To the toiler who covets a worthy renown, 



Through orchard or garden or grain. 



I fence the highways with hedges of gold, 



I beautify ruins with flowers, 

 With yellow and green I border the wold, 



And shelter the birds in my bowers; 

 I nourish wee creatures that creep on the ground, 



I feed the fine fowl of the air, 

 And where the footsteps of the farmer abound, 



I scatter my flower-flakes there. 



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