Poems ✍️
  26.09.2025
  14

Author: Carl Sandburg

Crimson

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.)


  Death Smoke memory sorrow

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