There is a heaven, for ever, day by day,
The upward longing of my soul doth tell me so.
There is a hell, I'm quite as sure; for pray
If there were not, where would my neighbours go?
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For every man there exists a bait which he cannot resist swallowing
by Carl SandburgIA STORM of white petals,
Buds throwing open baby fists
Into hands of broad flowers.
IIRed roses running upward,
Clambering to the clutches of life
Soaked in crimson.
IIIRabbles of tattered leaves