Blizzard Notes by Carl Sandburg
I DONâ€™T blame the kettle drumsâ€”they are hungry.
And the snare drumsâ€”I know what they wantâ€”they are empty too.
And the harring booming bass drumsâ€”they are hungriest of all.. . .
The howling spears of the Northwest die down.
The lullabies of the Southwest get a chance, a mother song.
A cradle moon rides out of a torn hole in the ragbag top of the sky.