A Coin

Your western heads here cast on money,
You are the two that fade away together,
Partners in the mist.

Lunging buffalo shoulder,
Lean Indian face,
We who come after where you are gone
Salute your forms on the new nickel.

You are
To us:
The past.

Runners
On the prairie:
Good-by.

Carl Sandburg

The Coin

Into my heart’s treasury
I slipped a coin
That time cannot take
Nor a thief purloin, —

Oh better than the minting
Of a gold-crowned king
Is the safe-kept memory
Of a lovely thing.

Sarah Teasdale

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