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New Feet

by Carl Sandburg, 1918

Empty battlefields keep their phantoms.
 Grass crawls over old gun wheels
 And a nodding Canada thistle flings a purple
 Into the summer’s southwest wind,
 Wrapping a root in the rust of a bayonet,
 Reaching a blossom in rust of shrapnel.

Published in Cornhuskers

Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.