85 HANDFULS

By Carl Sandburg

BLOSSOMS of babies

Blinking their stories

Come soft

On the dusk and the babble；

Little red gamblers，

Handfuls that slept in the dust．

Summers of rain，

Winters of drift，

Tell off the years；

And they go back

Who came soft—

Back to the sod，

To silence and dust；

Gray gamblers，

Handfuls again．