| Carl Sandburg (1878–1967). Cornhuskers. 1918. |
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| 85. Garden Wireless |
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| HOW many feet ran with sunlight, water, and air? | |
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| What little devils shaken of laughter, cramming their little ribs with chuckles, | |
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| Fixed this lone red tulip, a woman’s mouth of passion kisses, a nun’s mouth of sweet thinking, here topping a straight line of green, a pillar stem? | |
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| Who hurled this bomb of red caresses?—nodding balloon-film shooting its wireless every fraction of a second these June days: | |
| Love me before I die; | 5 |
| Love me—love me now. | |
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