The child's wonder
At the old moon
Comes back nightly.
She points her finger
To the far silent yellow thing
Shining through the branches
Filtering on the leaves a golden sand,
Crying with her little tongue, “See the moon!”
And in her bed fading to sleep
With babblings of the moon on her little mouth.
i am this the child that makes the moon her nightly sleeping pill
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love Carl Sandburg's poems. They are so sweet.