YOUR bow swept over a string, and a long low note
quivered to the air.
(A mother of Bohemia sobs over a new child perfect
learning to suck milk.)

Your bow ran fast over all the high strings fluttering
and wild.
(All the girls in Bohemia are laughing on a Sunday afternoon
in the hills with their lovers.)

Added: on January 1st, 2006 at 11:36 PM | Viewed: 1709 times | Comments (1)

Poet: Carl Sandburg
Poem: 3. Jan Kubelik
Volume: Chicago Poems
- Handfuls
Year: Published/Written in 1913
Poem of the Day: Sep 21 2006

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