The Junk Man
Poem by Carl Sandburg
I am glad God saw Death
And gave Death a job taking care of all who are tired of living:
When all the wheels in a clock are worn and slow and the connections loose
And the clock goes on ticking and telling the wrong time from hour to hour
And people around the house joke about what a bum clock it is,
How glad the clock is when the big Junk Man drives his wagon
Up to the house and puts his arms around the clock and says:
“You don’t belong here,
You gotta come
Along with me,”
How glad the clock is then, when it feels the arms of the Junk Man close around it and carry it away.
Comments about The Junk Man by Carl Sandburg
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.