FOR the second time in a year this lady with the white hands is brought to the west room second floor of a famous sanatorium.
Her husband is a cornice manufacturer in an Iowa town and the lady has often read papers on Victorian poets before the local literary club.
Yesterday she washed her hands forty seven times during her waking hours and in her sleep moaned restlessly attempting to clean imaginary soiled spots off her hands.
Now the head physician touches his chin with a crooked forefinger.
(Carl Sandburg)
More Poetry from Carl Sandburg:
- And This Will Be All.... (Carl Sandburg Poems)
- And So To-Day (Carl Sandburg Poems)
- To A Contemporary (Carl Sandburg Poems)
- A Father To His Son (Carl Sandburg Poems)
- Arithmetic (Carl Sandburg Poems)
- California City Landscape (Carl Sandburg Poems)