Poem by Carl Sandburg

Poppies

She loves blood-red poppies for a garden to walk in.
In a loose white gown she walks
         and a new child tugs at cords in her body.
Her head to the west at evening when the dew is creeping,
A shudder of gladness runs in her bones and torsal fiber:
She loves blood-red poppies for a garden to walk in.

1. Baby Vamps
2. Arithmetic
3. Haunts
4. Old-fashioned Requited Love
5. Subway

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