| Carl Sandburg (1878–1967). Chicago Poems. 1916. |
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| 133. Old Woman |
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| THE OWL-CAR clatters along, dogged by the echo | |
| From building and battered paving-stone. | |
| The headlight scoffs at the mist, | |
| And fixes its yellow rays in the cold slow rain; | |
| Against a pane I press my forehead | 5 |
| And drowsily look on the walls and sidewalks. | |
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| The headlight finds the way | |
| And life is gone from the wet and the welter— | |
| Only an old woman, bloated, disheveled and bleared. | |
| Far-wandered waif of other days, | 10 |
| Huddles for sleep in a doorway, | |
| Homeless. | |
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