Carl Sandburg

From “My People”

I

A STORM of white petals,

Buds throwing open baby fists

Into hands of broad flowers.

Red roses running upward,

Clambering to the clutches of life

Soaked in crimson.

III

Rabbles of tattered leaves

Holding golden flimsy hopes

Against the tramplings

Into the pits and gullies.

Hoarfrost and silence:

Only the muffling

Of winds dark and lonesome—

Great lullabies to the long sleepers.