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by Carl Sandburg, 1916

Crimson is the slow smolder of the cigar end I hold,
 Gray is the ash that stiffens and covers all silent the fire.
 (A great man I know is dead and while he lies in his coffin a gone flame I sit here in cumbering shadows and smoke and watch my thoughts come and go.)

Published in Chicago Poems

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