I've lost this one also.
Number 44.
Michael Hogan tells me his son likes this one.
I'll read it for him.
"We have slept the ponies out to pasture.
And now, walking the fence, 'Boys,' I say, 'I dub you men.
From this hour forward, do your coloring here.'
Robert, dragging the hammer, chooses
a deep blue for the grass.
Andrew, his pockets rife with staples, yellows every rock.
Suspending a hand above the pond, I fancy the water pink.
Our house goes green, the improvements red as coxcombs.
Then, with crayons sharp as auger points,
we trace the fence line black until the farm
is bordered like a page.
'Well done,' I say.
And back over the hill in single file
we march to live in the little green house."
[APPLAUSE]