Hog butcher for the world, Tool maker, stacker of wheat, Player with railroads and the nation's freight handler; Stormy, husky, brawling, City of big shoulders.

And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers. Go running back to dust and mist.

Lips half-willing in a doorway. Lips half-singing at a window. Eyes half-dreaming in the walls. Feet half-dancing in a kitchen. Even the clocks half-yawn the hours And the farmers make half-answers.

To those who had ordered them to death, one of them said: “We die because the people are asleep and you will die because the people will awaken.”

All my life I have been trying to learn to read, to see and hear, and to write.

Back of every mistaken venture and defeat is the laughter of wisdom, if you listen.

There is no song to your singing.