The banker saw no worth in words so turned down flat that day the offer of a farmer’s song as collateral for a loan for seed At night the farmer returned home buried his lyrics across furrows set never to receive the barley By the morning he was gone Come the spring in that field beyond his boarded up house every small word had sprouted with such a scent and promise it brought songbirds flocking eager to seek each sweet fragment working the lines day and night piecing together his old tune. Until the morning they sang as one that…

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