SHEEP
Thousands of sheep, soft-footed, black-nosed sheep-- / one by one going up the hill and over the fence--one by
WARS
❦
IN the old wars drum of hoofs and the beat of shod feet.
In the new wars hum of motors and the tread of rubber tires.
In the wars to come silent wheels and whirr of rods not
yet dreamed out in the heads of men.
In the old wars clutches of short swords and jabs into
faces with spears.
In the new wars long range guns and smashed walls, guns
running a spit of metal and men falling in tens and
twenties.
In the wars to come new silent deaths, new silent hurlers
not yet dreamed out in the heads of men.
In the old wars kings quarreling and thousands of men
following.
In the new wars kings quarreling and millions of men
following.
In the wars to come kings kicked under the dust and
millions of men following great causes not yet
dreamed out in the heads of men.
More poems by Carl Sandburg
JOY
LET a joy keep you. / Reach out your hands
WHO AM I
MY head knocks against the stars. / My feet are on the hilltops.
I AM THE PEOPLE, THE MOB
I AM the people--the mob--the crowd--the mass. / Do you know that all the great work of the world is