Tuesday, April 19, 2011

**Carl Sandburg**


The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

The Harbor

Passing through huddled and ugly walls
Bu doorways where women
Looked from their hunger-deep eyes,
Haunted with shadows of hunger-hands,
Out from the huddled and ugly walls,
I came sudden, at the city's edge,
On a blue burst of lake,
Long lake waves breaking under the sun
On a spray-flung curve of shore;
And a fluttering storm of gulls,
Masses of great gray wings
And flying white bellies
Veering and wheeling free in the open.