I Took my Son to the Birthplace House of Mister Sandburg

We rode through Galesburg

Waited on the train

Played the piano by the old opera house

And walked in the rain

Went to visit the house where mister carl sandburg

Was born and raised

And saw the empty buildings

Standing tall in the rain

The worn out bricks

And the faded ads

For healing powders and remedies for pain

That tiny house 

And the town

A great man raised

And he wrote so proud

Of Chicago

And the land of Abraham Lincoln

And shared songbags

of slaves, cowboys

Songs of mormons, pilgrims, settlers, bad men and cathouse call girls

every one of them

no doubt

had the touch of blues

of shipwrecks and trainwrecks

and mighty fires

legends

of loss

on land and sea

and the triumphant

gains

of skyscrapers

born to reach

beyond

the smoke stack

clouds

I took my son to the house of Mister Carl Sandburg

And we walked together in the rain

And recalled the songs

Of the working men and women

In the cities and towns

and Pullman car

dreamers

rushing across

the plains

We saw the mural

just beyond

the tracks

and people

waiting for

the westbound

train

The People

And hoped to celebrate

this land of the brave

And who at last did 

Mister Carl Sandburg

remember or save?

answer:

here upon

the page