COOL TOMBS

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When Abraham Lincoln was shoveled into the tombs he forgot
           the copperheads and the assassin ... in the dust, in the
           cool tombs.

And Ulysses Grant lost all thought of con men and Wall Street,
           cash and collateral turned ashes ... in the dust, in the
           cool tombs.

Pocahontas' body, lovely as a poplar, sweet as a red haw in
           November or a pawpaw in May, did she wonder? does she
           remember? ... in the dust, in the cool tombs?

Take any streetful of people buying clothes and groceries,
           cheering a hero or throwing confetti and blowing tin
           horns ... tell me if the lovers are losers ... tell me if any
           get more than the lovers ... in the dust ... in the cool tombs.

1918

© Carl Sandburg
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© E-publisher LiterNet, 17.08.2009
The Sun Is but a Morning Star. Anthology of American Literature. Edited by Albena Bakratcheva. Varna: LiterNet, 2008-2010