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by Carl Sandburg, 1918

In the loam we sleep,
 In the cool moist loam,
 To the lull of years that pass
 And the break of stars,

 From the loam, then,
 The soft warm loam,
   We rise:
 To shape of rose leaf,
 Of face and shoulder.

   We stand, then,
   To a whiff of life,
 Lifted to the silver of the sun
 Over and out of the loam
   A day.

Published in Cornhuskers

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