Maxioms by Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.
Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.
And how should a beautiful, ignorant stream of water know it heads for an early release - out across the read more
And how should a beautiful, ignorant stream of water know it heads for an early release - out across the desert, running toward the Gulf, below sea level, to murmur its lullaby, and see the Imperial Valley rise out of burning sand with cotton blossoms, wheat, watermelons, roses, how should it know?
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
I am an idealist. I don't know where I'm going but I'm on my way.
I am an idealist. I don't know where I'm going but I'm on my way.
I'm an idealist. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm on my way.
I'm an idealist. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm on my way.
