on whimsical questions from above

HATS, where do you belong?
what is under you?
On the rim of a skyscraper’s forehead
I looked down and saw: hats: fifty thousand hats:
Swarming with a noise of bees and sheep, cattle and waterfalls,	5
Stopping with a silence of sea grass, a silence of prairie corn.
Hats: tell me your high hopes.

- Carl Sandburg, Cornhuskers, II. People Who Must, 5. Hats