Carl Sandburg (1878–1967). Chicago Poems. 1916.

144. The Junk Man

I AM glad God saw Death

And gave Death a job taking care of all who are tired of living:

When all the wheels in a clock are worn and slow and the connections loose

And the clock goes on ticking and telling the wrong time from hour to hour

And people around the house joke about what a bum clock it is,

How glad the clock is when the big Junk Man drives his wagon

Up to the house and puts his arms around the clock and says:

“You don’t belong here,

You gotta come

Along with me,”

How glad the clock is then, when it feels the arms of the Junk Man close around it and carry it away.