Poems by Carl Sandburg

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A father sees his son nearing manhood.

What shall he tell that son?

"Life is hard; be steel; be a rock."

And this might stand him for the storms

and serve him for humdrum monotony

and guide him among sudden betrayals

and tighten him for slack moments.

"Life is a soft loam; be gentle; go easy."

Drum on your drums, batter on your banjoes,

sob on the long cool winding saxophones.

Go to it, O jazzmen.

Sling your knuckles on the bottoms of the happy

tin pans, let your trombones ooze, and go husha-

husha-hush with the slippery sand-paper.

Moan like an autumn wind high in the lonesome treetops,

moan soft like you wanted somebody terrible, cry like a