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Carl Sandburg (Карл Сэндберг)


Fight


Red drips from my chin where I have been eating.
Not all the blood, nowhere near all, is wiped off my mouth.
Clots of red mess my hair
And the tiger, the buffalo, know how.
I was a killer.

         Yes, I am a killer.
I come from killing.
         I go to more.

I drive red joy ahead of me from killing.
Red gluts and red hungers run in the smears and juices
    of my inside bones:

The child cries for a suck mother and I cry for war.



Carl Sandburg's other poems:
  1. A Coin
  2. I Am the People, the Mob
  3. Sea Slant
  4. Hope Is a Tattered Flag
  5. Arithmetic


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Английская поэзия