As go to hunt my job

As go to hunt my job
By Whittaker Chambers
April 7, 1926

Poems

II

As go to hunt my job
I see the frozen-tipped leaves of the horse-radishes
Swerve, duck, and bob;
And the jolly cabbages
Squat regimented,
Set down in lines and cultivated
In the midst of the fields —
In lines of blue and green,
With strips beyond of flat black
Earth, between the rows of red
Bud-cabbages, squat in the sun;
And, in a spiral of wind, a spiral of birds
Evolving songless overhead. ¹