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by Carl Sandburg, 1918

The brass medallion profile of your face I keep always.
 It is not jingling with loose change in my pockets.
 It is not stuck up in a show place on the office wall.
 I carry it in a special secret pocket in the day
 And it is under my pillow at night.
 The brass came from a long ways off: it was up against hell and high water, fire and flood, before the face was put on it.
 It is the side of a head; a woman wishes; a woman waits; a woman swears behind silent lips that the sea will bring home what is gone.

Published in Cornhuskers

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