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Read more poems by Carl Sandburg: Carl Sandburg Poems at Poetry X.

She sits in the dust at the walls
     And makes cigars,
Bending at the bench
With fingers wage-anxious,
Changing her sweat for the day's pay.

Now the noon hour has come,
And she leans with her bare arms
On the window-sill over the river,
Leans and feels at her throat
Cool-moving things out of the free open ways:

At her throat and eyes and nostrils
The touch and the blowing cool
Of great free ways beyond the walls.

Added: 16 Jun 2002 | Last Read: 8 Sep 2008 2:39 AM | Viewed: 1831 times

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