Carl Sandburg Wind Poems

LONG ago I learned how to sleep,
In an old apple orchard where the wind swept by counting its money and throwing it away,
In a wind-gaunt orchard where the limbs forked out and listened or never listened at all,
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(For Paula)THE GRIP of the ice is gone now.
The silvers chase purple.
The purples tag silver.
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'The past is a bucket of ashes.'
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MONEY is nothing now, even if I had it,
O mooney moon, yellow half moon,
Up over the green pines and gray elms,
Up in the new blue.
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DO you know how the dream looms? how if summer misses one of us the two of us miss summer-
Summer when the lungs of the earth take a long breath for the change to low contralto singing mornings when the green corn leaves first break through the black loam-
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IF the oriole calls like last year
when the south wind sings in the oats,
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