Like a great red star turning in the sky I see the sun in her great sphered dress, folded fuchsia as a rose, a myriad winds blown from afar as she lifts her arms in prayer.

I see her arms of light, I see her commas of leaves, and I see her curves in my head, aicracked away to Spain, made like a song.

Oh, to sing her light, to swell my voice into her miauleen song as she lifts her arms high on a ladder of soft wind.

• Carl Sandburg