Le poete est un animal marin qui vit sur terre et qui voudrait voler. - Carl Sandburg

Maybe the morning sun is a five-cent yellow balloon,
And the evening stars the joke of a God gone crazy.
Maybe the mothers of the world,
And the life that pours from their torsal folds — Maybe it’s all a lie sworn by liars,
And a God with a cackling laughter says:
“I, the Almighty God,
I have made all this,
I have made it for kaisers, czars and kings.

I cannot tell you now;
When the wind's drive and whirl
Blow me along no longer,
And the wind's a whisper at last -
Maybe I'll tell you then
some other time.

The Republic is a dream. Nothing happens unless first a dream.