Sandburg, Carl (1878-1967)
It's going to come out all right--do you know? The sun, the birds, the grass--they know. They get along--and we'll get along. Some days will be rainy and you will sit waiting And the letter you wait for won't come, And I will sit watching the sky tear off gray and gray And the letter I wait for won't come. There will be ac-ci-dents. I know ac-ci-dents are coming. Smash-ups, signals wrong, washouts, trestles rotten, Red and yellow ac-ci-dents. But somehow and somewhere the end of the run The train gets put together again And the caboose and the green tail lights Fade down the right of way like a new white hope. I never heard a mockingbird in Kentucky Spilling its heart in the morning. I never saw the snow on Chimborazo. It's a high white Mexican hat, I hear. I never had supper with Abe Lincoln, Nor a dish of soup with Jim Hill. But I've been around. I know some of the boys here who can go a little. I know girls good for a burst of speed any time. I heard Williams and Walker Before Walker died in the bughouse. I knew a mandolin player Working in a barber shop in an Indiana town, And he thought he had a million dollars. I knew a hotel girl in Des Moines. She had eyes; I saw her and said to myself The sun rises and the sun sets in her eyes. I was her steady and her heart went pit-a-pat. We took away the money for a prize waltz at the Brotherhood dance. She had eyes; she was safe as the bridge over the Mississippi at Burlington; I married her. Last summer we took the cushions going west. Pike's Peak is a big old stone, believe me. It's fastened down; something you can count on. It's going to come out all right--do you know? The sun, the birds, the grass--they know. They get along--and we'll get along.