Give Me Carl Sandburg

Give to me Carl Sandburg
and I shall be content,
and of course Robert Frost,
my weary soul’s old friend.

So many of the old poets
I cannot sit and read,
their unending, ponderous verse –
I’m in quicksand to my knees!

Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass”
is a masterpiece to be sure,
but for every line I understand
I’m lost in a hundred more.

Give to me Carl Sandburg,
“Chicago Poems” I adore,
and I’ll take Bukowski, too
making magic from manure.

Perhaps I lack the intellect,
more likely patience is short,
but I cannot wade through Yeats,
for academics are his words.

I will take Carl Sandburg
as my desert island choice,
but Jim Harrison must come, too,
for I love to hear his voice.

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