Bonta gives us a quiet scene in just a few lines: a field of corn, and standing in it, a lone chimney. A house once stood here, and now the chimney is all that's left of it. The speaker doesn't tell us how they feel. They simply notice, and let the details speak.
The word "thin" is a good place to start. The corn is described as having "thin business," as if its rustling and growing is a small, busy routine carrying on without caring what used to be here. Nature goes about its work while the human story has faded. Then comes the last image, a bed of asparagus. Someone planted it, and it keeps coming back, year after year, with no one left to tend it. It's a small, stubborn trace of ordinary life.
The mood is calm, a little sad, and reflective. There's no drama, only a gentle sense of how easily a home can vanish, and how the things we plant can outlast us.