BLOSSOMS of babies
Blinking their stories
Come soft
On the dusk and the babble;
Little red gamblers,
Handfuls that slept in the dust.
 
  Summers of rain,
Winters of drift,
Tell off the years;
And they go back
Who came soft—
Back to the sod,
To silence and dust;
Gray gamblers,
  Handfuls again.

Added: Feb 4 2004 | Viewed: 1568 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Carl Sandburg
Poem: 26. Handfuls
Volume: Cornhuskers
- Haunts
Year: Published/Written in 1918
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