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.
When I was writing pretty poor poetry, this girl with midnight black hair told me to go on.
Time is the coin of life. Only you can determine how it will be spent.
There is no song to your singing.
Time is a sandpile we run our fingers in.
The fog comes on little cat feet.