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Posts Tagged ‘Carl Sandburg’

I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing
lasts.

The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the
copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the
taker of seeds.

The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of
holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of
snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go,
not one lasts.

Originally Published in Poetry Magazine October 1918

Carl Sandburg Biography, Poems, & Articles

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