IA STORM of white petals,
Buds throwing open baby fists
Into hands of broad flowers.

IIRed roses running upward,
Clambering to the clutches of life
Soaked in crimson.

IIIRabbles of tattered leaves
Holding golden flimsy hopes
Against the tramplings
Into the pits and gullies.

IVHoarfrost and silence:
Only the muffling
Of winds dark and lonesome—
Great lullabies to the long sleepers.

Analysis, meaning and summary of Carl Sandburg's poem The Year

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Do you have any comments, criticism, paraphrasis or analysis of this poem that you feel would assist other visitors in understanding the meaning or the theme of this poem by Carl Sandburg better? If accepted, your analysis will be added to this page of American Poems. Together we can build a wealth of information, but it will take some discipline and determination.