Carl Sandburg

(6 January 1878 – 22 July 1967 / Illinois)

Fog


The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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  • Luke Baldwin (11/17/2009 5:53:00 PM)

    i think that this poem is really a metiphor for how life is and functions. One day the perfect girl comes you hesitate the next thing you know she's gone. Also life in general you come from work and you go to get your daily dose od mcdonalds you swallow and you have a heart attack and die at age thirty two. Your life is gone just like the fog. (Report) Reply

  • Jane Moon (5/15/2009 11:47:00 AM)

    Such gentleness is in this little poem - images of fog creeping in, spreading silence over all, awe and mystery and peace. (For a lifetime, this has been my favorite poem.) (Report) Reply

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