Threes by Carl Sandburg

I was a boy when I heard three red words 

a thousand Frenchmen died in the streets 

for: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity--I asked 

why men die for words.

I was older; men with mustaches, sideburns, 

lilacs, told me the high golden words are: 

Mother, Home, and Heaven--other older men with 

face decorations said: God, Duty, Immortality 

--they sang these threes slow from deep lungs.

Years ticked off their say-so on the great clocks 

of doom and damnation, soup, and nuts: meteors flashed 

their say-so: and out of great Russia came three 

dusky syllables workmen took guns and went out to die 

for: Bread, Peace, Land.

And I met a marine of the U.S.A., a leatherneck with a girl on his knee 

for a memory in ports circling the earth and he said: Tell me how to say 

three things and I always get by--gimme a plate of ham and eggs--how 

much--and--do you love me, kid?

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