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The Red Son

 I LOVE your faces I saw the many years
I drank your milk and filled my mouth
With your home talk, slept in your house
And was one of you.
But a fire burns in my heart.
Under the ribs where pulses thud And flitting between bones of skull Is the push, the endless mysterious command, Saying: "I leave you behind-- You for the little hills and the years all alike, You with your patient cows and old houses Protected from the rain, I am going away and I never come back to you; Crags and high rough places call me, Great places of death Where men go empty handed And pass over smiling To the star-drift on the horizon rim.
My last whisper shall be alone, unknown; I shall go to the city and fight against it, And make it give me passwords Of luck and love, women worth dying for, And money.
I go where you wist not of Nor I nor any man nor woman.
I only know I go to storms Grappling against things wet and naked.
" There is no pity of it and no blame.
None of us is in the wrong.
After all it is only this: You for the little hills and I go away.

by Carl Sandburg
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