"Paula" by Carl Sandburg

Nothing else in this song--only your face.
Nothing else here--only your drinking, night-grey eyes.

The pier runs into the lake straight as a rifle barrel.
I stand on the pier and sing how I know you mornings.
It is not your eyes, your face I remember,
It is not your dancing, racehorse feet,
It is something else I remember you for on the pier mornings.

Your hands are sweeter than nut-brown bread when you touch me
Your shoulder brushes my arm-- a southwest wind crosses the pier
I forget your hands and shoulder and I say again:

Nothing else in this song--only your face.
Nothing else here--only your drinking, night-grey eyes.

"Winter Gold" by Carl Sandburg

The same gold of summer was on the winter hills,
the oat straw gold, the gold of slow sun change.

The stubble was chilly and lonesome,
the stub feet clomb up the hills and stood.

The flat cry of one wheeling crow faded and came,
ran on the stub gold flats and faded and came.

Fade-me, find-me, slow lights rang their changes
on the flats of oat straw gold on winter hills

"Whispers" inspired by "Paula"

Nothing else in this song--only your face.
Nothing else here--only your drinking, night-grey eyes.

As I walk along the trees, the mist gathers.
I see images of you in the shadows,
the wind seems to whisper our names.
Then, I feel your hand close around mine,
and see you beside me.

As you hold my hand, the mist suddenly vanishes.
You look at me, our eyes connect, and all is suddenly silent.
You look away, and I repeat:
Nothing else in this song--only your face.
Nothing else here--only your drinking, night-grey eyes.

"The World Sleeps" inspired by "Winter Gold"
 

The same gold of summer was on the winter hills,
the oat straw gold, the gold of slow sun change.

White powder gathered in piles under the pale moon,
and the frigid air blows in blasts, lifting the last brown leaves.

The shutters of an abandoned house creak open,
and the light from the starry sky cuts through the dusty pane.

Chunks of ice form on the lifeless, mirrored lake
as the world rests, waiting to be waken in spring.