I SIT in a chair and read the newspapers.
Millions of men go to war, acres of them are buried, guns and ships broken, cities burned, villages sent up in smoke, and children where cows are killed off amid hoarse barbecues vanish like finger-rings of smoke in a north wind.
I sit in a chair and read the newspapers.
Smoke
Carl Sandburg
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Poem topics: children, war, wind, finger, broken, chair, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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