Close-mouthed you sat five thousand years and never
let out a whisper.
Processions came by, marchers, asking questions you
answered with grey eyes never blinking, shut lips
never talking.
Not one croak of anything you know has come from your
cat crouch of ages.
I am one of those who know all you know and I keep my
questions: I know the answers you hold.

Added: on January 24th, 2005 at 8:32 PM | Viewed: 2071 times | Comments (1)

Poet: Carl Sandburg
Poem: 9. A Sphinx
Volume: Chicago Poems
- The Road and the End

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